Imaginary Romance
by She's a Star
Summary: Post-Hogwarts. Ginny and Harry become roommates, but are still nothing more than friends. Will things change between them, or will Ginny find romance with a certain blonde-haired former Slytherin? Decisions, decisions.
1. The Beginning

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Imaginary Romance

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by She's a Star

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. The whole story is very lightly based on my faaavorite TV show of all time, I Dream of Jeannie, as I was desperate to write a story about two people who live in the same home and are attracted to one another, but never really act on it. Anyway, 'Jeannie' belongs to Sidney Sheldon. Some of the plotlines may be similar, but all in all I'll try to keep it original. Also, the song 'You Don't See Me' is from the Josie & The Pussycats soundtrack (heehaw.), so...yeah. It's not mine either.

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Author's Note: Ahh, so you get to read the history. I was in the bathroom, brushing my teeth one day and pondering how I could write a story about the above plotline. "But who?" I asked myself, and then it CAME TO ME: **Harry and Ginny!** I suppose it could have been Ron and Hermione, but H & G were the first two who came to me, so H & G it is! And now you know! Wasn't that valuable information?

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Chapter One: The Beginning

Ginny Weasley had been in love with Harry Potter for as long as she could remember. 

It wasn't that she _enjoyed_ being in love with him. No, not at all. Rather, it was like constant torture, a dismal cloud hanging over her and reminding her that he'd never care about her in return. She was aware how pathetically she behaved, and couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the perfect stereotype of a lovestruck schoolgirl she displayed herself as when around him. 

_Honestly, Ginny,_ she constantly lectured herself, _You're twenty-one years old. It's been _eleven_ years, for God's sake! Just get over him._

Easier said (well, thought, if you wanted to get technical) than done.

And now they were living together.

It wasn't the least bit romantic, of course. Both hadn't been able to pay their rent on their salaries alone, and Harry's flat was much nicer than her own. Period. End of story.

It was painfully clear that there would never be a happy ending for Ginny where Harry was involved.

"Don't think about it," she muttered to herself, pulling open a cardboard box full of framed photos. "You'll just make yourself more depressed."

Smiling slightly, she pulled the first picture out of the box. It was of herself and Hermione a few years back, at Ginny's Hogwarts graduation. To think that they could look so happy, when only year before the Dark Lord had torn apart their world...

"Don't think about that, either," she snapped aloud. "Cheer up, for God's sake."

Next came the family photos: assorted snapshots of herself and her brothers grinning from ear to ear. She smiled down at them, mood lightening slightly, but her heart sunk once more when she came across the picture of she and Percy. Tears welled up in chocolate brown eyes as she lightly ran a finger across her beloved brother's face.

He was gone now.

"Stop it," she lectured herself, voice a bit shaky. "You're turning yourself into a complete emotional wreck."

Sighing, she set the picture on her dresser with the others and pulled the next photo out. As soon as she did, she shoved it right back into the box, face down. It was Harry, grinning broadly as his green eyes sparkled. She'd taken the photo from Ron a few years before and slept with it beside her bed each night. Well, she certainly couldn't do that now.

Besides, she had the real Harry to make up for it.

It would be so amazing, to live with him and hear him breath at night and make breakfast in the morning and to have the thrill of always being around the man that she'd loved for the last decade. And yet....

He would never be hers to love.

She would always be just a bystander, watching him intently and loving him with every fiber in her being, and yet never amounting to anything in his eyes.

"You don't see me," she sang, her voice light and barely audible. "And you don't need me...and you don't love me...the way I wish you would, the way I know you could."

"Ginny?"

Oh God. It was him.

"Harry," she responded brightly, fixing a smile on her face before turning to see him. Immediately her heartbeat quickened. She didn't know quite what it was about him that intoxicated her so; or perhaps she knew everything, but it was too much to describe all at once. 

He was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"D'you like the room?" he asked, casually placing his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, yes," Ginny replied, forcing herself to stay calm. After all, she lived with him now, and it wouldn't be fitting to practically hyperventilate each time they were in the same room. "It's wonderful. Thank you so much for letting me move in."

"Thanks for moving in," he said. "I like it here, but they pay me about nothing at the Three Broomsticks."

"I know what you mean," Ginny replied. "So, are you working tonight?"

"No, actually," Harry said. "Susan and I are going out."

"Susan?" Ginny repeated weakly.

"My girlfriend, Susan Bones," Harry elaborated. "You know her, right?"

Ah yes, Ginny knew her. Indeed she did. And there wasn't a single moment when she didn't want to yank her perfect blonde locks from her perfect head. 

She was definitely perfect, Susan. Perfect figure, perfect hair, perfect skin: perfect. But, from what she'd heard from Ron, she was also a drama queen with about as much sense as an emery board.

Harry and Susan had broken up and gotten back together approximately thirteen and a half times in the last year. (A half because at Harry's twenty-second birthday party, they weren't quite through breaking up yet before they got back together again. Ginny had witnessed the whole thing.)

Yes, Ginny kept track.

So sue her.

"Well, great," Ginny said, forcing a frighteningly cheery smile. "I hope you have a nice time."

_And _do_ make an attempt to push her off a cliff while you're out, will you?_

"Yeah, I'm sure we will," Harry said, giving her a knee-weakening grin. "Well, I hope so...you see, we kind of got into an argument a few days ago."

Make that _fourteen_ and a half.

"I'm sure you'll get things settled," Ginny said supportively, praying that they wouldn't.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking a bit awkward. "Well, I'd better go start getting ready. I'm supposed to meet her at The Golden Watch in a half an hour."

"Super," Ginny said, struggling with all her might to keep sarcasm out of her tone. "Have fun."

"I will," Harry said before leaving her room.

As soon as the door shut with a soft click behind him, she buried her head into her pillow and let out a shriek. 

_For the love of God, Virginia Marie Weasley, _when_ will you stop obsessing over an imaginary romance??_

~*~

Ginny had never operated a television before.

To tell the truth, she'd never even set eyes on one before now.

But Harry owned one, and she was determined to sit around moping while watching a video. After all, what else was she going to do with her pointless existence??

Now, all she had to do was figure out how to turn it on.

"This isn't that difficult," she coached herself as she pressed the power button. "Muggles use them all the time."

Immediately, a couple locked in a passionate embrace filled the screen.

"Oh, gag me," she muttered, pulling the video she'd selected from its case. It was Breakfast at Tiffany's, Hermione's favorite film of all time. If she was going to watch anything, it may as well be that: she and Hermione had similar tastes.

But there was one problem: where did the video go??

"Aurgh," Ginny mumbled to herself. "This is foolish." 

Biting her lip in determination, she shoved the tape into the machine below the television, but nothing happened.

"Oh, come _on_," she groaned. "Go in there, you stupid thing."

Unknown to her, Harry stepped into the living room and silently observed her fight with the VCR, which grew more and more violent by the second. About five minutes later, her face had turned as red as her hair, and she screeched, "Go in there, you Goddamed son of a bitch mother fu-"

"Ginny," Harry interrupted, feeling that he shouldn't let her little cursing fit continue.

She turned around at once, hand at her heart.

"Oh," she said weakly. "Er...Harry. Hi. Um...yeah...hi."

"Having trouble?" he asked gently. 

Dear Lord. Why? _Why_ did she have to be humiliated like this??

"A bit," she responded delicately.

"Yeah, I guessed that," Harry said, smiling. "Want some help?"

"Um...yes, please."

"Okay."

Harry came over and sunk down onto the floor next to her, and Ginny couldn't help but sigh inwardly at how close he was to her. His presence warmed her heart in a way nothing else could, and it was at fleeting moments such as those when it felt worth it to love him so deeply without ever being given the least bit of his affection.

He removed the tape from the VCR, switched it around, and put it back in again. This time, the VCR swallowed it at once.

"See?" he asked. "You have to put it in with the label facing towards you."

"Oh," Ginny said weakly, feeling her cheeks flush a deep crimson. "Thanks, I'll remember that."

Amusement still lingered in Harry's features, and Ginny felt embarrassment pulsate through her.

_Good _God_, I'm such an idiot!_

"Well, I'd better go meet Susan," he said, a bit awkwardly. "I'll see you later."

"Bye, Harry," Ginny said, yet another uncontrollable Kill-Susan-Now urge running through her. 

And she sunk down onto the couch quite morosely, wishing passionately that _she_ could be the one going out with Harry to The Golden Watch while Susan sat at home watching Audrey Hepburn films.


	2. Angel Standing By

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Author's Note: Thanks for zee reviews, guys! You're all splendiferous! Hmm...the song Angel Standing By belongs to Jewel, and if you look closely, you shall find eight Sweet Valley High: Senior Year book titles within the chapter...*dun dun dun*

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Chapter Two: Angel Standing By

Two thirty in the morning. Two freaking thirty in the morning.

_Who_ on God's green earth stayed out until _two thirty in the morning_ on a _date_??!!

"Well, Harry, that's who," Ginny mumbled angrily to herself, eyes fixed on the television screen. She'd watched Breakfast at Tiffany's five times straight now, having decided after the first viewing that changing the tape was probably a bit too risky. She had, however, mastered the **stop**, **rewind**, and **play** buttons. 

_If he doesn't come home soon, I'm getting up and going to the stupid Golden Watch and pulling him out by his ear._

However, those drastic measures proved to be unnecessary, as the sound of the doorknob turning filled her ears.

"Shit," Ginny muttered, pulling the blanket over her head and striking what she hoped was a convincing 'I've-been-asleep-for-hours' position. If there was one thing more pathetic than waiting up for Harry, it was having him _know_ that she'd been waiting up.

"Oh my gosh, there's someone on the couch! They practically just gave me a heart attack! Harry, quick, get out your wand!"

Fabulous. Susan.

"Calm down," Harry instructed.

Susan's voice silenced, which either meant that she'd left or Harry had performed a nifty little Avada Kedavra curse on her. Ginny hoped for the latter.

"Ginny?"

_I am not awake, I am not awake..._

He tapped her shoulder gently, sending about a zillion little tingles throughout her body.

"Hmm?" she asked 'sleepily' (mwahaha...), forcing open her eyes. 

"You weren't waiting up, were you?" Harry asked, looking a bit concerned.

"Oh, no," Ginny responded airily, waving a hand and very narrowly knocking his glasses off. Harry flinched.

_Ha._

"I completely forgot you were gone," she finished casually. "So, what time is it?"

"Dunno. Twelve thirty."

_Try _two thirty, _you asshole._

"Mmm," Ginny responded, forcing herself to stay calm. "Seems later."

Harry shrugged. "Might be."

_Gee, ya THINK?_

"The movie is _still_ on??" he asked incredulously after studying the television.

"I wanted to watch it over," Ginny responded delicately.

"You could have watched something else."

"I didn't want to risk it," Ginny snapped. "I'm going to go make a cup of tea. You want anything?"

She rose from the couch and made a show of tossing her blanket to the floor before stomping towards the kitchen.

"Er, Gin?" Harry called from behind her. "You might not want to..."

Ginny ignored him and pulled open the door to the tiny, falling-apart kitchen. And there, on one of the bar stools, sat Susan, leaning on the counter and sipping a diet soda poured into a wine glass.

"Classy," Ginny commented sarcastically. 

"Who are you?" Susan asked, wrinkling up her perfect nose in disgust.

"Your boyfriend's roommate," she responded dryly.

_We were only at Hogwarts together for five years,_ she added silently.

"Oh, you're that Weasley girl," Susan said, studying her long fake nails. "Ron's sister. Didn't you used to be, like, really poor?"

Ginny resisted the urge to dump the water she was boiling over Susan's head, and instead responded sweetly, "Didn't you used to be, like, red-headed and not-so-stick-thin?"

"No," Susan replied immediately. "Of course not. No way. I'm perfect. That must have been somebody else. Like...you."

"Aren't you going home??" Ginny asked, annoyed.

Susan shook her had. "I think I'm going to spend the night here."

_Over my dead body._

"Great," Ginny mumbled. "Don't do anything you wouldn't do if your grandma was in the room."

And with that, she left the tea forgotten and made her way upstairs.

  
~*~

"Ugh, Harry, I cannot _stand_ that girl," Susan said, rolling her eyes as she sunk into his lap. "She's such a beastly little thing!"

This was what he hated about her. Sure, Susan was gorgeous and...well, gorgeous, but that was pretty much all she had going for her. She was such a drama queen that she could make a broken nail sound worse than Lord Voldemort making yet another comeback, and she was constantly judging people by their looks. Harry, who didn't consider himself all that attractive, wondered why the hell she even bothered with him.

"There's just _something_ about red-heads," Susan proclaimed. "I can't stand them."

"Susan," he said delicately, "You used to have red hair."

"Ew, don't remind me," she said, shuddering. "That was so totally not me. That was, like, the old me. Who is _so_ not me."

"Oh," Harry said lamely, wishing more than anything that she would leave.

Instead, she draped her arms around his shoulders and began to caress his neck with glossy lips. 

"Suz, maybe this isn't the time," said Harry awkwardly. "I mean, Ginny _just_ moved in, and-"

"Forget Ginny," Susan ordered, beginning to unbutton his shirt. "I've got to release the inner bad girl sometimes, don't I?"

"But you'd better get home, right? I mean, Maria's probably getting worried-"

Yup. Blame it on the roommate.

"Maria who?" purred Susan, looking a bit frustrated at the undershirt she found under the one she'd just removed. "Baby, quit worrying about Ginny. It's _your_ life."

"It's my life," Harry repeated blandly. 

Well, it was true. It _was_ his life. Why was Ginny bugging him, anyway? She'd needed a place to stay...that was it. Only a total moron would want Susan to leave. A gorgeous girl attempting to seduce him? It wasn't exactly your basic nightmare.

But still....

"Susan, you should get home."

Instant drama. 

Just add water.

He should have known.

"Fine," she snapped angrily, standing up and straightening out her clothes. "As if I care...if you want to go be a total backstabber and hang out with that little Ginny brat, be my guest."

"Susan, God-"

"It's too late for apologies," she spat. "Goodnight, Harry."

Ah, she was gone.

The one that got away.

What a shame.

She'd be back the next morning as though nothing had happened, Harry knew that much. All she needed was her beauty sleep and she'd be perfectly perky again.

With a sigh, Harry switched off the light and went up to bed, knowing that nightmares of darker times awaited him.

They never failed, the nightmares.

Never stopped haunting him...

~*~

"AAAAAHHHH!"

"Harry!" Ginny sat straight up in bed, hand to her heart. 

Perhaps it had all just been a nightmare, a nightmare...

"No, no, don't kill them, please don't kill them!"

It was real. That was Harry's voice, pleading so desperately. 

He sounded so terrified, so terrified.

She had to do something.

Raising silently from her bed, she tiptoed out into the hall and pushed open the door to his bedroom. Blankets were strewn across the floor, and Harry was still yelling, hand to his scar.

It pained her more than anything physical ever could, to see him that way.

Biting her lip, she sunk down onto his bed and pushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead. He still didn't awaken, moaning softly. 

"No...no..."

He had seen things so horrible that Ginny couldn't even begin to fathom what they were like. Ridding the world of Voldemort had destroyed him....

Ruined him.

"All through the night I'll be standing over you."

The words escaped her lips before she even realized it, bittersweet and soothing. She'd heard the song so long ago that she couldn't remember where it was from or who it was by, but somehow it had danced its way into her mind.

Harry seemed to relax at the sound of the words, and Ginny felt a surge of determination run through her.

"All through the night I'll be watching over you," she continued, a promise dancing in her voice. "And through bad dreams, I'll be right there baby...

Holding your hand...

Telling you everything is all right."

She silently took his hand in her own and shivered a bit. He was so cold.

"And when you cry, I'll be right there," she sighed, caressing his cheek with her free hand, "Telling you you were never anything less than beautiful..."

Harry's eyes fluttered, staying closed but startling Ginny enough that she rose from the bed right away.

With a last glance at him, she began to make her way out of the room. However, just before she closed the door, she sang out the rest of the song in a sweet whisper.

"So don't you worry...

I'm your angel standing by."

~*~

A sweet serenade lightly rung through Harry Potter's mind, and a vision of a red-headed angel held his hand.

And so he slept.


	3. A Match Made in Hell

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Chapter Three: A Match Made In Hell

Ginny was bored.

This wasn't a rare occurrence while she worked. On the weekends, Honeydukes was packed with kids from Hogwarts, desperate to fill their pockets with Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. But during the week, adults (who scarcely came in anyhow, with the exception of the occasional husband looking for chocolates for his wife or old Mrs. Glenwood, who had quite the sweet tooth) were all at work, and the children were at school.

And yet Ginny's boss insisted she work.

It could be worse, she decided as she absently sucked on a sugar quill. It wasn't so bad, after all, getting paid seven sickles an hour to do absolutely nothing. 

Sighing, she turned the page in Witch Weekly and skimmed over the interview with Celestina Warbeck.

_Blah blah blah...new album....bored...blah blah blah..._

Her not-so-interesting magazine reading was cut short when the bells on the door jingled merrily, announcing a new customer.

Ginny shut her magazine, put on a cheerful smile, and found herself face-to-face with none other than the King of the Assholes himself, Draco Malfoy.

Even though he'd lived in Hogsmeade for quite some time (in the finest house in the entire town, naturally), before now, Ginny hadn't had the misfortune of running in to him.

_Well,_ she thought, annoyed, _All good things must come to an end._

"Can I help you?" she asked icily, staring evenly into cold eyes.

Malfoy fixed his signature smirk on his face. "In more ways than one, Weasley."

Screw being professional.

"Go to hell, Malfoy," she sneered.

"All in good time," he responded, infuriatingly unaffected.

"What do you want?" Ginny asked impatiently. "Hurry up so I can be rid of your presence."

"You know that behind all those insults, you're desperate for me," Malfoy said, an unbearably haughty smile on his face.

"Oh yeah, who wouldn't be desperate for you?" Ginny deadpanned. "You're the number one chauvinistic asshole ever to exist. I just can't hide my true feelings anymore! Being treated like shit totally turns me on."

Malfoy nodded, a cool laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah, I can tell. So, you want to go out to dinner this Friday?"

Ginny stared at him blankly for a moment, attempting to process the words.

There was _no_ way he was serious.

"You know, I would laugh, except I can't seem to find any humor in that," she commented dryly.

"I'm not joking, Weasley," Malfoy returned easily. "How about it? Friday, eight o'clock at The Golden Watch?"

Many an answer flew through Ginny's head, the top three being _'No way'_, _'I'd rather date my own grandfather'_, and the ever-popular _'Fuck you'_.

But as she opened her mouth to answer, she realized something.

Harry hated Malfoy. Detested him, really. If Ginny were to start dating him, it'd bug Harry at least a little.

And most likely, a lot.

Ginny fixed a sickly sweet grin on her face. "Sure. I'd love to."

_It's payback time, Mr. Potter._

~*~

Ginny had first suspected that Harry needed a bit of help cleaning dinner when she heard the shouted swear words pouring from the kitchen. She ignored him, not wanting to seem to eager, and instead kept flipping through Witch Weekly. 

"Dammit!" Harry yelled from the kitchen.

She flipped the page.

"Dammit dammit _dammit_!"

Flipped another page.

"AAAAUUUURRRRGGGHHH!!"

Ginny bit her lip to hold back laughter.

And then...

**BOOOOOOM!**

_Perhaps,_ she concluded silently, _He needs a bit of help._

She left her magazine and made her way into the kitchen to find Harry covered in spaghetti sauce and swearing madly.

"Need help?" Ginny asked weakly.

He spun around. 

"Gin," he sighed, sounding relieved. "Do you by any chance know how to cook?"

The sight of Harry covered in spaghetti sauce and looking utterly miserable was just too much.

After a moment of silence, she burst into hysterical laughter.

"What??" Harry asked defensively, glaring at her.

"Don't you find it..." she began between giggles, "Just a little bit funny...that the Boy Who Lived...can't make spaghetti sauce?"

Harry fought back a smile and returned, "No! Now heeelp!"

"Grovel," Ginny responded promptly.

Harry studied her incredulously, green eyes sparkling. "_What_?"

"You heard me," Ginny said with a saccharine smile. "Grovel!"

Harry studied her quizzically for a moment before throwing himself over-exaggeratedly to the floor. 

"Oh, Ginny!" he wailed in agony. "Please help me cook, O Goddess of the Kitchen! Save me from this eternal hell that is spaghetti sauce!"

She held back her laughter and fixed a regal expression on her face. With an airy wave of her hand, she responded, "Well, I _suppose_ I could grant you that one simple request."

"Good," Harry replied, rising from the floor. "Because I'm not about to grovel again any time soon."

Ginny laughed and studied the pot on the stove that held an incredibly thick red substance that slightly resembled spaghetti sauce. Huge clumps of tomato and raw onion littered the liquid.

"That's...great," Ginny said, wrinkling her nose. "Really appetizing."

"Shut up," Harry replied crossly. "I never claimed that I could cook."

"How do you _survive_?" Ginny asked, laughing. "I'm surprised you haven't died of starvation yet!"

"There's this thing called _take-out_, and it's saved my life," Harry replied earnestly.

"Thank God for it," Ginny said, staring down once more at the...er...spaghetti sauce. "Because that is the most disgusting thing I've seen all day. Including Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated disdainfully.

"Yeah," Ginny responded casually. "He came into the store earlier."

"Oh," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. "Yay. Well, not speaking of Malfoy, wanna go see Ron and Herm Friday night?"

_Mwahaha,_ Ginny cackled inwardly.

"Actually," she replied breezily, "Friday's not good for me. I have a date."

Suspicion immediately tensed up Harry's features.

"With who?" he asked at once.

Bingo.

"Draco," Ginny said, holding back a triumphant smile.

"Draco? As in, Draco Malfoy??" asked Harry, face immediately flushing red. 

"Yup," Ginny replied easily.

"Why the hell are you going on a date with _him_, Ginny?!" Harry exploded. "He's a complete bastard! He's awful! You know that guys like him only want one thing!"

"Really, Harry?" Ginny asked sweetly. "And what's that?"

"B...w...ah...I..." Harry stuttered, looking bewildered.

"I think I'm going to go take a bath," Ginny said innocently, a smile spreading across her face. 

And she walked slowly out of the kitchen, leaving Harry staring at her in shock.

"Sex!" he yelled after her. "Sex!!"

Ginny smirked.

_Maybe Malfoy will be quite useful after all._


	4. Seduction and Deadly Maladies

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Disclaimer: The fatal disease Urpelscranailbrokeoffious belongs to my dear friend Rachel. :) The oh-so-....lovely *coughcough* song Let's Get It On belongs to Marvin Gaye. Disturbing tune, there.

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Author's Note: This is one freaky chapter quite reminiscent of those appearing in my previous HP chapter epic, Meet The Parents. It just...spiraled out of control. But hey, what can I say? 'Tis impossible to fight with my apparently nonexistent muse, you know.

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Chapter Four: Seduction and Deadly Maladies

There was many a thing that Harry didn't understand about the opposite sex.

Why did they spend so much time on their hair? Makeup? Clothes? What was it with their unnatural obsession with '_feelings_'? _How_ was it that they could shed one measly tear and make a guy feel like he's the scum of the earth?? (Not to mention, how could they stomach those awful romance novels?)

But there was one thing about women that was absolutely inconceivable.

And that was how they could _possibly _be attracted to Draco Malfoy.

Sure, there were ditzes like Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown who were too busy swooning to judge his character, and then there was the ever-simpering Pansy Parkinson, who wasn't really a woman but rather an overgrown pug. But they weren't all.

Oh no.

He had the _smart_ girls attracted to him, too.

Even Hermione, quite possibly one of the most intelligent people to ever have graced the planet, had said he was _handsome_. (She'd made the confession during a game of 'Who do you think is most attractive at Hogwarts?' in their sixth year, and Ron had turned so red, Harry was surprised to that very day that he hadn't exploded.)

But it hadn't affected Ron.

Nope, not in the long run. He was _engaged_ to Hermione, for crying out loud!

However, it was _definitely_ affecting Harry.

Ginny was going on a date with Malfoy in two days. Two.

Well, one thing was for sure: she wouldn't step out of the _house_ with intentions of seeing the Incredible Bouncing Ferret! The disaster-in-waiting would be stopped, or he wasn't The Boy Who Lived!

And he was, you know.

~ * ~

A plan was beginning to formulate in Harry's mind.

Ah, it was a bit of an inappropriate plan...definitely rated PG-13, at the least. And it was risky - risky indeed. She may move out afterwards.

But, by golly, it was worth it! 

He was saving Ginny from a date with the most wicked of men on earth.

Honestly - he discovered the freaking Nobel Prize.

Yes. He was going to do it.

He knew that Ginny had fancied him, way back when, and perhaps he could rekindle the little flame...

_Yup,_ Harry concluded with a sigh. _Seducing Ginny is the only possible option._

~ * ~

It wasn't uncommon for Harry to be listening to music when Ginny got home from work. There were quite a few Muggle bands that he liked to listen to on the CD player (which she hadn't even attempted to operate after the VCR incident), but none had ever been like this. Yes, there had been the occasional F-word, but honestly....

"_I been really tryyyin', baby...tryin' to hold back this feelin' for so long!_"

She was a little scared.

"_And if you feel like I feel baby, come on...oh, come on!_"

Yup, definitely scared.

"_Let's get it on!_"

Okay. Officially 110.5% freaked out to the point of no return. An incredibly suggestive song if she'd ever heard one.

And then Harry appeared.

Wearing boxers.

And _only_ boxers.

(Blue plaid boxers, if you must know.)

"Hey Ginny," he said in a ridiculously deep tone, a strained sort of smile that she supposed was meant to be knee-weakening spreading out across his face.

"Um...hi, Harry," she responded awkwardly, making her way toward the dreaded CD player and turning one of the knobs. The ISS (Incredibly Suggestive Song) blasted in volume, growing so loud that she screeched in shock.

"_We're all sensitive people with so much to give!_"

"You wanna have a good time?" 

"Have you been drinking?" Ginny interrogated, panicked. "Have you been overdosing on Fizzing Whizbees??"

"You wanna know?"

"Wouldn't _you _want to know if your roommate had gone crazy??!!" she snapped dangerously.

"Come a little closer," he insisted with a painfully roguish and Gilderoy Lockhart-esque wink. "And I'll tell you why!"

_Insane. Insane. Harry has finally snapped. He's gone nuts. Mad. Bonkers._

Studying him skeptically, Ginny took a few steps forward.

"What is it?"

"Clooooser," Harry instructed.

Good Lord. He was losing it. Losing every drop of sanity he'd ever possessed, before her very eyes!  
And unluckily, she had to be the one to witness it.

Yes, she loved Harry. Loved him very much, really. But if _this_ was what he was like proceeding...intimacy, well, she almost felt sorry for Susan.

Still, Ginny stepped forward with the intention to knock some sense into him. A good slap upside the head ought to do it.

"Now, what is it, Harry?" she demanded impatiently. 

Harry, however, did not choose to answer using sentences. Oh, no. Instead, he flung his arms around Ginny with a sort of animal intensity.

"Let's get it _on_!" he howled.

Ginny decided in that very second that this was the worst moment in her entire life.

It worsened even more as the both of them lost balance and fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs and pained curse words.

"GET OFF OF ME!!!" Ginny shrieked, not able to take it anymore. "GET OFF OF ME OR I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS TO NEXT TUESDAY!!"

Harry winced, looking extremely pitiful.

Well, no siree. He was _not_ getting off that easily.

Mwahaha.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you??" she continued fervently. "Are you possessed or something??"

"Ginny, I-"

"Oooh, _I've_ got an idea!" she snapped, sarcastic. "Why don't you go seduce your brainless ditz of a girlfriend instead of poor little unsuspecting moi?? This could scar me for life, you know!"

"I...I..."

"And you know who's paying for the many years of intense psychological therapy?"

Looking incredibly crestfallen, Harry pointed at himself.

"Damn straight," she barked. "Now, I'm going up to bed." 

She stood up and brushed off her pants. "Please refrain from bursting into my bedroom in the wee hours of the morning with some messed up 'Woe is me, I'm so sex-deprived!' song and a pair of blue plaid boxer shorts!"

He was now the shade of a tomato, looking more embarrassed than she'd ever seen him.

Ha. Served him right, trying to put the moves on her for some unknown and probably frightening reason.

If she hadn't been madly in love with him for the last eleven years, she'd sure as hell drop 'im like a hot potato.

~ * ~

All right. So Operation #1: Seduction had failed. With flourish. Actually, it was quite possibly one of the most humiliating moments of Harry's life. Well, that was in the past. If he dwelled on it, he would probably end up doing something cruel and unnatural to himself like chopping off all of his fingers and selling them on the black market, or eating a soufflé made of Crabbe's toenails.

It was time to move on to Operation #2...

The Fake Deadly Malady.

Heh heh.

~ * ~

The next morning, Ginny was still attempting to recover from Harry's frightening seduction antics while she whipped up a gourmet breakfast for herself. (That is, if one was incredibly easy to satisfy and therefore would consider a cinnamon Poptart and a cup of coffee gourmet.)

She had spent a restless night trying to figure out exactly _what_ Harry had been attempting at, and had made the conclusion that it somehow had to lead back to her date with Malfoy. Why, she didn't know. The male mind was a strange and often ridiculous thing.

Ah well. It was (hopefully) all in the past now, and she wouldn't ever have to dwell on it again.

Instead of fixating on the terrifying subject, she decided to focus on the ever-important issue of what she would wear that night on her date with Malfoy. She had to look gorgeous (if such a feat was possible), in order to get Harry jealous. Maybe she'd throw a little bit of that seduction method back at him.

_Much_ more subtly, of course.

In all the one hundred and eight romance novels that she'd read, she'd made the conclusion that men were never subtle.

She supposed she could have also made the conclusion through real life experience, _if_ she'd ever actually had any sort of romance before.

Best not to dwell on that, either. The subject never failed to depress her.

Back to the clothes.

_Maybe that little black dress...or the red one that Hermione says looks so wonderful...maybe my silk blouse-_

Just then, the most wretched, pathetic croak of a sound that she'd ever heard in her entire life filled her ears.

"Moooorning, Giiinny."

Harry walked into the kitchen, wrapped in a blue flannel bathrobe and looking extremely miserable. His hair was even messier than usual, his face was pale, and his eyes were red and puffy. 

"Harry," Ginny responded tentatively, "Are you...feeling all right?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry replied (well, croaked. Again.). "I'm just fine."

"Are you...sure?" Ginny asked, coming closer. "Let me see if you have a fever."

"'kay," Harry said miserably.

Ginny rose her hand to his forehead. A familiar scent surrounded him, but she couldn't place it. It smelled a bit like peppermint, and had a sort of bitterness to it.

As she removed her hand from his head, she inspected her fingers to find that a white sort of dust had fixed upon them.

Ah.

Talcum powder. She knew it well. _Her_ talcum powder, unless she was mistaken.

So he was trying to fool her. 

Well, fine. She'd play along. 

It might be entertaining.

"Oh, you poor thing!" she cried. "You're burning up!"

"Really?" Harry croaked, looking surprised for an instant.

"Oh, yeah!" she said, nodding her head vigorously. "Your voice is completely gone, your eyes are puffy, and your skin-"

She held out her fingers as evidence, and Harry gulped visibly.

"-Is crumbling into tiny grains," she finished dramatically. 

She smirked inwardly as he relaxed.

Ha. She wasn't letting him off the hook yet.

"What do you think it is?" he asked, squinting at her.

Was that _blush_ around his eyes??

It wouldn't surprise her.

"Well, Harry," she said, sounding wistful. "I'm _really_ sorry, but there's only one thing that it could be."

"What's that?"

Ginny paused for a moment to think up the most ludicrous name she could.

Finally, she announced triumphantly, "Urpelscranailbrokeoffious."

Harry studied her, bewildered. "Really??"

Ginny nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so. We're gonna have to get you to a hospital right away. I read something about it in the medical section of Witch Weekly, and you have to get medical assistance within twenty four hours of the symptoms."

"Ginny, are you sure?" Harry asked, looking nervous. His voice had suddenly and miraculously become clear. "I mean, the hospital is expensive...plus, it could be nothing. Just a common cold!"

"Oh, no!" Ginny said, shaking her head. "Harry, I'm just not willing to take that risk. I couldn't let your skin crumble into pieces as your internal organs rot!"

He looked vaguely disgusted.

Hehehe.

"We're going to have to get you to the hospital right away," Ginny insisted. "So you can get the cure."

"The cure?" Harry repeated weakly.

"The cure!" Ginny confirmed. "The only known cure for Urpelscranailbrokeoffious in the world."

"Which is...?"

"A huge shot right up your left nostril, of course!" Ginny said, sure to keep up her concern. "The needle is huge! I'd say six, eight inches! It's going to be painful, Harry. But I care about you too much to just let you waste away-"

"Ginny, I'm fine!" Harry yelped.

"No," Ginny said, shaking her head vigorously. "That's just denial. You're afraid. I know that. It's one of the eight steps to dealing with the fact that you're dying. But don't worry, Harry. One in every six hundred and twelve Urpelscranailbrokeoffious patients are saved without many side effects, besides the loss of their nostril."

"Loss...of their nostril?" repeated Harry, aghast.

"Oh, yes," Ginny said, wide-eyed as she nodded. "Something in the shot causes it to close up."

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Oh, but Harry, don't worry!" Ginny cried, throwing her arms around him. "Your true family and friends will always care about you, even if you _are_ deformed. Even if you _do_ suffer from Urpelscranailbrokeoffious! Even if you never recover!" In a deadly whisper, she muttered in his ear, "Even if you take their makeup and pretend to be deathly ill so that they won't go on a date that evening."

Harry paused, then responded with nervous laughter, "Uh...you knew?"

"Harry, I'm not that stupid," Ginny responded dryly. "I know my own makeup when I see it."

"Um...oh," Harry said sheepishly. "But...yeah...okay. I'm just going to go get ready for work now."

"You do that," Ginny repeated carelessly.

He had made his way out of the kitchen and halfway down the hall when he came back and leaned against the door frame once more.

"What?" Ginny asked.

"Ginny," he said, looking quite sickened, "How did you know so much about Urpelscranailbrokeoffious?"

"Dunno," she said with a shrug. "I made it up."

He laughed at her, an expression of amused incredulousness on his face. "That's sure a talent to value."

"Oh, I know, isn't it?" she responded, grinning.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said casually. "It would be a great thing for you to scare Ron and Hermione with at dinner tonight. You know, if you want to come."

Ginny molded her expression into one of obligated disappointment. "You know, I'd love that, but I can't."

"Why?" Harry asked, looking as though he dreaded her answer.

"Because," she replied innocently, "I've got my date with Draco. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry muttered, suddenly looking very bitter. "I'd forgotten about that."

And with that, he stormed down the hall. The sound of a door slamming filled her ears seconds later.

Hmmm.

This was working out even better than she had originally planned. 


	5. Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds of...

****

Author's Note: This chapter is quite heavily inspired by my beloved favorite episode of I Dream Of Jeannie (which aired on my birthday...coincidence? I think not! *Twilight Zone theme plays*), though it's a bit more...racy. *nods* And well, Shakespeare's sonnet does not belong to me.

Duh.

****

Chapter Five: Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds of May...

It wasn't the first time that Harry Potter had failed. Oh, no. He'd flunked many a Potions exam in his time, and nearly always managed to crash and burn with the opposite sex.

And yet he'd always followed through on things that truly mattered, like sneaking into Hogsmeade and repeatedly defeating the Dark Lord with flourish. Most of those things had never even been carefully planned, either - they simply came to him in times of need.

But oh, had he failed this time.

For at that very moment, Ginny was in her bedroom preparing for her date with the incredible bouncing ferret.

It was too much for a guy to handle, really.

And so Harry was doing the only thing he possibly _could_ do after all else had failed.

Moping.

_Why Malfoy? WHY? I could handle, Seamus, Neville, Colin, Ron - _a moment's consideration - _Okay, not Ron. Still....ANYONE but Malfoy! (All male members of the Weasley family excluded.)_

And she sounded so damn _happy_ about it, too. He could hear her humming something and could only pray that it wasn't a sappy love ballad proclaiming her undying fiery ardor for the Ferret Boy.

Straining his ears, he listened closer.

Her clear, sweet voice immediately filled his head, belting out (quite coquettishly)...

_Let's Get It On?!?!_

Oh shit.

It was worse than he'd thought.

(Not to mention that it brought back not-too-pleasant memories of his attempted seduction.)

_If Malfoy lays a hand on her...scratch that, a FINGER, I will diagnose him with Urpelscranailbrokeoffious and PERFORM THE ANTIDOTE!_

...in both_ nostrils._

_But no, that's not all. I'll just be getting started. I'll-_

"Oh, Haaarry!"

Gulp.

"Yeah?" he called back to Ginny, struggling to sound casual.

"Could you come in here for a second? I need your help with something."

"Uh...yeah...sure."

No big deal. Nope. He worked hard to ignore the fact that she seemed to be trying to sound almost...seductive. (And was succeeding in a way that he most certainly had not.)

Whistling nonchalantly, he made his way to Ginny's door and wrapped his knuckles lightly against the faded mahogany.

"Come right in."

Harry obliged, and upon swinging open the door, found Ginny standing with her back to him.

Her _bare_ back.

BreatheInBreatheOutBreatheInBreatheOutBreatheInBreatheOut...

A short crimson dress wrapped around her slim figure, the back still waiting to be zipped.

"This dress always gives me hell," she informed him, turning her head slightly to make eye contact. "Mind giving me a hand?"

"No-o!" He winced as his voice cracked horribly. An amused smile played around the corners of her lips. "I mean...uh...no. 'Course not."

Much better.

His heartbeat pulsated maddeningly through his head as he stepped closer to her. With shaking hands, he reached for the zipper.

_This is just Ginny!_ he yelled inwardly. _She's no Susan!_

...thank God.

As the zipper made its way up, it snagged on the red satin.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized at once, his voice shaking.

"It's fine," she breathed. "This old thing always does that. You just have to...unzip it a little."

. . .

"Okay," Harry said, nervously carrying out the order as he wondered vaguely just _when_ she'd made the transformation from sweet, quiet Ginny to a super-seductress temptress vixen.

It was a little unnerving.

...Not that he didn't like it.

Once the dress was fully zipped, she turned around and studied him intensely for a moment from under ebony lashes.

"Thanks," she breathed.

"No problem," Harry said with a forced grin that felt so idiotic he didn't even want to _think_ about how it looked.

Ginny sunk down in front of a vanity littered with assorted cosmetics which had aided Harry in his sudden, violent (and not to mention false) attack of Urpelscranailbrokeoffious. After a moment of what appeared to be careful consideration, she snatched up a tube of lipstick.

"I just love this stuff," she informed him, voice light, airy, and possessing an aura of misleading innocence. "If there's one thing that our kind has over Muggles, it's makeup."

After that proclamation, she removed the cap from the lipstick and traced it slowly along her bottom lip. A dark scarlet fixed itself on her mouth, possessing the same crystal-clear allure of red wine. She slowly rubbed her lips together, a hint of pink tongue brushing away the extra gloss.

"What do you think?" she inquired, studying his reflection in the mirror for a moment before pressing her lips against the glass in the exact spot where a very nervous Harry studied her. He watched himself as his green eyes widened in shock.

"Gr...great," he assured her amongst nervous laughter. "Uh...so...excited?"

"Oh, yes," she responded, her own sweet laughter escaping her lips and dancing through air ridden with tension. "It's been ages since I've gone out."

"We could go out sometime."

The words were out of his mouth before his brain realized what the hell he was doing. Therefore, it hadn't come to mind that Susan would serve his head on a platter if he took out another girl.

Apple in the mouth and all.

"As...friends," he stuttered in a hasty addition. 

"That'd be nice," she said with a sweet, almost shy half-smile. In that instant, super-seductress moved aside to make way for the real Ginny, who looked somehow soothingly innocent despite the sexy dress and thick makeup.

Harry decided that he liked this Ginny much better.

Alas, 'this Ginny' disappeared as quickly as she'd come.

"God, look at the time," she muttered, playing out a distressed facade while appearing perfectly calm all the while. "I have to hurry."

Humming the all-too-familiar tune of the dreaded Let's Get It On, she spritzed perfume onto her wrists and neck. Standing up, she stretched her arms lazily over her head before making her way toward him.

"I'm not too sure about this perfume," she announced promptly. "What do you think?"

And with that, she cocked her head to the side mere inches from his face, her neck dangerously close to his lips. Fingernails covered in red polish dug lightly into his arm as she faintly rested her hand there.

_ThumpThumpThumpThumpThump._

This was it. The end of him. He was going to have a heart attack. His head would explode. His eyes would get so big that they'd roll out of their sockets and onto the floor.

...Or not.

Most likely, Ron would burst in at that very moment, right along with Susan, and they'd kill him in some cruel and unusual way for being attracted to Ginny.

The scent of vanilla mingling with peppermint and talcum powder immediately ensnared his senses, and he stared down at her.

Just one little kiss wouldn't piss Susan off _too_ bad. She'd probably even speak to him again in another ten years, _if_ she took it well.

His eyes fell shut, immersing him in darkness as he leaned, anticipating, toward her neck. His lips tingled at the surreal realization that in a few seconds they would be caressing her smooth, ivory skin...lost in a sweet sea of vanilla, peppermint, and talcum powder...

But as he leaned down lower and lower, he realized that he should have met Ginny's neck by now. He tentatively opened one eye to find that she had crossed the room and was draping a shimmery black shawl over her shoulders. Immediately he felt his cheeks flush bright red in true Ron's Ears fashion.

"Draco should be here any minute," Ginny announced with an excited smile as she slipped her feet into a pair of red heels. "Thanks for helping me get ready."

"Any time," he mumbled awkwardly. "Have a good time."

His stupidity hit him at once with the blinding light of a full-fledged Gilderoy Lockhart smile. _Have a good time?!?_ With _Malfoy?!_ He could only imagine _his_ idea of a good time, complete with by-the-hour hotel rooms and wild, promiscuous sex.

He couldn't just let her out of the house dressed to kill with the Ferret of Death! Ron would never forgive him!  
And it would be a considerable amount of time before he forgave himself as well.

"But not _too_ much fun," he added, immediately feeling relieved.

Delighted laughter immediately spilled from Ginny's lips.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried with a bright smile, crossing the room with remarkable grace despite her high stilettos. "You're always going to look out for me, aren't you?"

"Um...well..."

In an action of pleasant simplicity, she planted a kiss on his cheek. "You know, you've always been _just_ like another big brother to me!"

Harry wondered if that comment was deliberately offensive before contemplating why it was irking him in the first place.

Perhaps it was because big brothers weren't supposed to have sudden urges to make out with their younger sisters.

"Oh, look," she announced in dismay. "I've gotten red lipstick _all over_ your cheek."

"It's...it's okay," he mumbled.

"No," she said insistently, "I'll just get that off."

His heart threatened to explode as she rose her fingers to his cheek and rested them there for a moment before brushing her thumb against his skin. He was inexplicably tempted to rest his hand upon hers, to stare into her eyes and cover her fingertips with kisses.

She was so beautiful...why hadn't he noticed it before?

Well, he was certainly noticing now.

And suddenly her hand was gone, living the logical side of his mind to chide him for being so unbearably stupid.

"There," she murmured. "Gone."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

They studied one another in silence for a moment before the unwelcome peal of the doorbell sounded.

"Oh, there he is now," Ginny said, abruptly turning and leaving the room.

And as Harry stood, very much alone and surrounded by the scent of her perfume, listening to the faint sound of her heels click against the floor, he wished for the first time in his life that he could trade places with Draco Malfoy.

~*~

It was quite easily the most triumphant moment of Ginny's life.

Her numerous viewings of assorted Marilyn Monroe films (in which The Seven Year Itch and Niagara had proved most helpful) and Breakfast at Tiffany's (which had tempted her to throw the word 'darling' into random sentences) certainly hadn't gone to waste. Marilyn's wide eyed naiveté (a la The Seven Year Itch) and brazen sexiness (courtesy of Niagara) had mingled perfectly with Holly Golightly's nonchalant glamour to produce an effect she'd only dreamt of having on Harry. Was it possible that he hadn't been aware of her dangerously extreme nervousness?

Well, it appeared that way. He'd tried to kiss her, for God's sake. Never in her wildest dreams had Ginny expected him to do such a thing. 

It had sure as hell taken all of her willpower to move away, too.

But it had been worth it.

_So tantalizingly close, and yet so very, very far,_ she thought with an amused grin.

Only once she'd reached the door did a strange realization hit her.

She was going on a date with _Draco Malfoy_.

The whole point of the entire evening had been to drive Harry mad with jealousy, and that had been accomplished. She'd completely forgotten that she actually had to spend time with the narcissistic bastard.

Yay.

A scowl on her face, she swung open the door to find the front stoop empty, a single red rose placed on the tattered 'Welcome' mat.

_What the...?_

Vaguely bewildered, she bent down and picked up the flower, tentatively caressing its ruby petals.

"Lookin' good, Weasley."

Malfoy's confident drawl filled her ears as he stepped out of a shadow and into view.

"Is that the best you can come up with?" Ginny returned quizzically, crossing her arms in front of her chest and studying him expectantly.

He rolled steel gray eyes, clearly unamused.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" he asked after a moment of silence, the words flowing from his lips with silken ease. "Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May," Ginny continued softly. 

"And summer's lease hath all too short a date," his voice filled her ears, filled with a strange sort of subdued passion that was oddly intoxicating. "Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines..."

"And often is his gold complexion dimmed," Ginny recited. "And every fair from fair sometime declines..."

"By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed, but thy eternal summer shall not fade."

"Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade."

"When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st," he had stepped close to her now, and those pale gray eyes studied her with frightening intensity. "So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see..."

"So long lives this," Ginny finished in a whisper, ensnared in his gaze. "And this gives life to thee."

A strange, breathless sort of silence filled the night as they studied one another, trapped in an instant that caused her heart to pound and knees to weaken.

She didn't like this feeling.

It was strange, unfamiliar, and she feared it.

And so she did the only thing she possibly could.

Killed it.

"Shakespeare, huh?" she asked, breaking the gaze for a moment before looking back up at him with a smirk. 

He nodded at her, an amused half smile playing at his lips. 

She hated how his every move seemed deliberate and flawless, how he seemed to possess a sort of chilling grace.

"Naturally, Weasley. We Malfoys are cultured...how could you expect anything less?"

"Well, you _did_ greet me with 'Lookin' good, Weasley'," she pointed out with a dry smile. "Not exactly fine poetry there."

"I don't appreciate your sarcasm, Weasley," he said haughtily, offering his arm.

She took it, then responded with a saccharine smile, "Thus the basis of its appeal."

"Clever, Weasley."

"Naturally, Malfoy," she replied, mimicking his infuriatingly self-assured tone. "We Weasleys have a gift for wit. How could you expect anything less?"

Malfoy studied her for a moment before proclaiming, "You're already starting to annoy me."

"Well," Ginny responded slyly, "We're right on target, then."

~*~

Ginny _knew_ that the broomshed incident would have to come up sometime.

It would be embarrassing, that was for sure. Hell, it was the reason she'd blushed every time she'd passed him in the halls for all of sixth year. His graduation had been an enormous relief - now, she'd figured, I'll never have to see him again.

Pssht.

Now she was on a date with him, and in quite the romantic setting no less. The Golden Watch was a classy place - she'd only been there once before, on the night when Ron and Hermione had announced their engagement six or seven months before. It was dimly lit, with candles hovering over each table. The ceiling was bewitched in a manner similar to Hogwarts', and sparkling stars danced and mingled across an ebony sky above them. The soft, sweet sound of the piano in the corner rang softly throughout the restaurant, and a few couples danced on the shimmering mahogany floor. 

And of course the broomshed incident had to ruin an otherwise semi-lovely evening, with Shakespeare and all.

She _knew_ that he remembered it, thanks to the knowing smirk that refused to leave his face.

Yup, he would bring it up any second now.

_5...4...3...2..._

"Say, Weasley," he drawled, right on schedule, "Remember the time that we got detention together and ended up making out in the broomshed?"

She winced immediately, and he chuckled.

Regaining composure, she regally returned, "No, it seems to have slipped my mind."

"It was probably your first kiss, huh, Weasley?" His smirk was positively _infuriating._

"No," Ginny shot back defensively.

That was, if she counted that awkward little peck on the cheek from Neville after the Yule Ball in her third year as a kiss.

Which she chose to in this time of desperation.

"You never talked to me again after that," Malfoy informed her, amused.

"You never made any attempts at conversation either, Malfoy," she snapped irritably.

"I still haven't forgiven you, you know, Weasley." A devious smile spread across his lips. "You would have been a suitable girlfriend. Instead I was stuck with that dog Pansy Parkinson."

"So," Ginny gave him a wry smile, leaning forward and studying him evenly. "You'd have rather dated me than Pansy Parkinson?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Weasley," Malfoy ordered. "I would have rather dated _Potter_ than Pansy Parkinson."

"Draco whatever-your-middle-name-is Malfoy," Ginny cried in teasing astonishment, "Never in a million years would I have expected that you swung that way."

"Really clever, Weasley," Malfoy deadpanned. "You continuously dazzle me with your endless witty repartee."

"I _do_ tend to have that affect on people," she agreed, nodding.

"So, Weasley." His eyes danced laughingly in the dim candlelight. "_Why_ didn't you talk to me?"

"Why are you dwelling on this?" she retorted in annoyance.

"Because," he replied with a twisted smirk, "I spent an unhealthy amount of galleons on mental therapy to overcome the heartbreaking blow. I've never been the same since."

"Oh, woe is you," Ginny rolled her eyes, sarcasm drenching her tone. "And if you must now," she added loftily, "You just weren't good enough for me."

"A.K.A., you were still hopelessly smitten with Potter."

. . .

Okay. He had her stumped there. He would surely see through pathetic excuses and mock her even more violently. But she couldn't just _tell_ him, Goddammit! She would rather tell Harry himself! At least _he_ wasn't pure and unadulterated evil personified.

An awkward silence passed, and she felt her cheeks flush crimson.

And then the inconceivable happened.

"Hey," Malfoy said, almost gently, "You can't control who you're smitten with. Life would be a bore if you could."

Ginny flashed him a grateful smile, resisting the urge to jump over the table and hug him.

"You know," she stated, "Under the many, _many_ layers of sinister heartlessness, you can be pretty deep."

He gave her a wry half-smile.

"Like a kiddy pool, Weasley."

~*~

He wasn't really sure why he'd asked her out in the first place.

Hell, he didn't even know why he'd gone to Honeydukes. If he were the sentimental sort, he could've blamed it on an uncontrollable urge to reminisce about his good ol' Hogwarts days when they'd visited Hogsmeade on weekends.

But he _wasn't_ the sentimental sort, nor had his Hogwarts days been something worthy of reminiscing about.

Well, either way, he was glad he'd asked her out. She looked hot, and it was a nice change from the usual brainless blondes he dated.

After they'd finished eating, he had half a mind to somehow prolong the date - maybe ask her to dance or walk around Hogsmeade a little.

But he almost immediately decided against it.

After all, Draco _really_ couldn't afford to fall for Ginny Weasley.

~*~

"So, the night has come to an end," Malfoy announced dramatically as they approached her doorstep.

"The pain," Ginny deadpanned. "I'll cry myself to sleep tonight."

Out of the corner of her eye, she snuck a glance in the front window. Harry sat on the couch, staring anxiously at the clock.

Perfect.

"So, Weasley," Malfoy flashed her a smug grin. "Do I get a kiss goodnight?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh-so-sorry, but I do _not_ want to relive any of the good ol' broomshed days anytime soon."

She snuck another glance at Harry.

_Look over here,_ she ordered silently. _Look over here..._

"You know," Malfoy was saying, "You really _are_ torturing yourself here, Weasley. Depriving yourself of sheer bliss, causing yourself-"

Bingo.

Harry's eyes flew over, and without hesitating she slammed her mouth against Malfoy's. She kissed him passionately, fervently, giving Harry the full-out 'Are You Jealous Yet?' performance.

After a few moments, she pulled away. A smirk immediately fixed itself on Malfoy's lips.

"Indecisive, aren't we, Weasley?"

Fixing a saccharine smile on her face in hopes that Harry would think her to be professing her undying love, she uttered two legendary words.

"Fuck you."

And with that, she fixed a giddily infatuated smile on her face and pranced inside.

~*~

He couldn't believe she'd kissed Malfoy on a first date.

And it wasn't a teensy little polite kiss, either, which was definitely the kind of kiss that he'd expect from her.

No sirree, it had been a full-out passionate 'I want you, I need you' kiss, complete with tongue and all.

Harry couldn't help but want to hurt Malfoy in an extremely cruel and unusual way.

Yes, the antidote to Urpelscranailbrokeoffious was really sounding good right now.

He immediately squeezed his eyes shut and feigned sleep, attempting to even out his breathing. It really wasn't easy to appear as though you've been completely relaxed for hours when all you want in the entire world is to murder a certain Draco Malfoy who would remain nameless.

A long, dreamy sigh immediately filled the air, and without any warning, something collapsed onto Harry.

His eyes flew open at once as he let out a shocked yell.

Ginny had fallen across his lap, a smitten smile on her face.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry!" she apologized at once, scooting over to the vacant spot on the couch. He could practically _see_ the little hearts in her eyes. "I had no idea you'd still be up!" She paused for a moment before giving him a big smile. "Were you _waiting up_ for me?"

"No, no, of course not," Harry said at once. "I was just...reading, and I fell asleep."

He snatched up a book from the coffee table and held it up as evidence.

Ginny studied the title, looking both amused and disturbed.

"Fifty Easy Ways To Hook Your Man?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Oh, great.

"Sure," Harry said weakly. "It's very...interesting."

He noticed blandly that he'd been constantly humiliated ever since Ginny had moved in with him.

Coincidence?

He thought _not_.

"Hmm," Ginny said distractedly before a giddy smile blossomed upon her face. "Oh, I had the most _amazing_ time!"

"Really?" Harry asked weakly.

_Must...kill...Malfoy..._

Ginny nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes. Draco is _so_ romantic."

"Romantic?" Harry repeated in disbelief. "Draco? As in, Draco Malfoy Draco?"

The dreamy smile was back, and Harry _really_ didn't like it.

"He was reciting poetry to me," she breathed. "Shakespeare."

Harry suddenly wondered why he hadn't bothered to learn Shakespeare.

"And he brought me a rose," Ginny continued. "And we had dinner by candlelight...he ordered red wine..."

_MUST...KILL...MALFOY...KILL...KILL...KILL...._

"So you really like him, huh?" Harry asked miserably.

Ginny nodded again, sighing. "Oh, it's more than 'like', Harry."

She stood up and sighed yet again. 

The sighing was getting old.

"I think that I'm in love with him!" she announced brightly before leaving the living room and disappearing into the kitchen.

By nature, Harry Potter didn't think himself to be a very violent person. Sure, he'd been in many a violent situation, but none of them had been welcome, right down to when he'd thrown the 'Potter Stinks' badge at Ron's forehead in fourth year.

But now, he found himself overcome with an inexplicable longing to pull off Malfoy's fingernails and force him to eat them, one by one.

Perhaps, Harry concluded, he was a _tiny_ bit jealous.

****

A/N 2: Am I the only one falling for Draco here??


	6. In Silences Like These

Oh my goodness...I haven't updated in ages. I'm sorry! *wails* I just got complete and total writers' block on this story, but I decided to PERSEVERE FOR MY REVIEWERS!

:-)

And so now you get a bunch of crazed shout-outs to the chapter five reviewers!

Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed! I love you guys!!

Miseducated Girl-Child: Oh good Gilderoy, do I know that they're OOC. *sighs glumly* It's been depressing me, really. But I'll continue to write anyway, despite the fact that I'm destroying JKR's beautiful characters.

...Er, sorry. That was a bit mopey. Thank you for your wonderful review :)

sk8er-chick-4: Heheheh. Ah, give Harry a break. He's just oblivious. But not for long! *dun dun dun*

Mudblood: Oh yes, that Malfoy sure is a sexy beast. ;-)

Gina: Gosh, if you hated Draco's guts then, you aren't going to be too happy after this chapter...Mwahaha.

Fleur: Hehehe...yup, Harry may be in need of psychiatric therapy by the time this is done. *cackles eeevilly* And as for the whole 'who will she choose?' dilemma...well, quite frankly, I'm equally torn myself. :) I have to keep reminding myself that I'm a G/H shipper. ;)

Cryssa: :) A Draco/Cryssie, you say? Darlin', you've saved this fic.

Airelle Vilka: AAAAAH! *screeches and runs around like a mad teenybopper at an NSYNC concert* Airelle reviewed me! Airelle reviewed me! ME, ME, ME! *pauses and stares at very scared readers* Er...sorry. Thanks for reading, Lena. In case you haven't noticed, you're my Ff.N idol. ;) And I'm sure it's come to your attention that I'm a bit...insane?

Isadora: Urpelscranailbrokeoffious! Seductive Harry! Ain't it fun? Mwehehe.

Ziegod Lizski: Thank you, thank you! :) You flatter me. 

Gedia: Aw, sure Harry stands a chance. :) Though Draco really is quite wonderful, non?

Qwerty: So am I. :)

Cashelle: Everyone's just madly in love with Draco, eh? ;)

CoolGirl9093@aol.com: Thank you :) Ah, all the praise! I just don't deserve it!

Black Tangled Heart: :) 

Summerthyme: Thank you, thank you :) Also...I love your story Eyes of Darkness. UPDATE!!! NOW!!! OR ELSE!!! (Er...sorry. My inner-Slytherin went a little crazy for a sec there.)

Milla: Yay! Lots of reviews from zee great drama-princess! And...well, I've written more! Aren't you proud? *smirks*

Tris McGraw: Flawless? Truly talented writer? *sniffles* Thank youuu!!

Trina-K: Heh. Oh yes, Ginny's bad indeed. ;) And Malfoy's not a bad guy....or is he? *dun dun DUN*

Philosopher: Yup, Harry's definitely being dense, and yup again, there's gonna be some D/G :)

Jaffacake: You're marvelous, you know that? :)

Bucky: I don't think I'll be changing ship on ya, don't worry. (But how can you NOT love Draco? Come on! At least just a little bit!)

Twixxa: Cute! Adorable! Gotta love my HP boys....hehe.

Eni: Ooh! Good idea about the gets-angry-and-makes-things-blow-up-involuntarily thing! *starts to consider things she could make Harry blow up* Mwahaha...mass destruction...

Bitethepenguin: Thank you, thank you! :)

Monika: Oh, the praise! It's too much! *sniffles* you guys are so good to me, you know that?

And last but DEFINITELY not least:

Storm: Everyone's just fallin' for Draco, eh? Though I'm sure he's no Snape. *gags*

****

Chapter Six: In Silences Like These 

She didn't need a sugar quill.

Really, she didn't. 

Sure, she would _really_ like one at the moment - strawberry flavored, perhaps, or maybe vanilla. The vanilla ones sounded particularly alluring... 

"Ginny, don't," she instructed herself aloud, glaring at the display as she put up the last box of sugar quills (banana flavored). "Just because you work here doesn't mean that you can go on mad sugar quill binges. They're _so _unhealthy, honestly..."

"She speaks," a familiar voice murmured teasingly from behind her. "O speak again bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night being o'er my head as a winged messenger of heaven..."

A smile on her face, she turned and proclaimed melodramatically, "Draco, Draco! Wherefore art thou, Draco?"

A lazy smile danced across his lips. "Lookin' good, Weasley." 

"Please, Malfoy," she groaned, rolling her eyes at him before resuming her position behind the counter. "It didn't even work the first time."

"No, I'm serious," he assured her teasingly. "Listening to you argue with yourself about whether or not to eat sugar quills is dangerously intoxicating."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure." Checking her watch, she announced, "They'll be here any minute now."

"They?"

"Hogwarts students," Ginny explained. "It's a Hogsmeade weekend. They'll flood the place in approximately two minutes."

"I can hardly wait," Draco deadpanned. "Gotta love whiny amateur wizards."

"Hey," Ginny said defensively, giving him a sly smile. "If I recall correctly, Mr. Malfoy, _you_ were a whiny amateur wizard yourself less than five years ago."

"_I_ was an extraordinary whiny amateur wizard," he announced. "There's a _difference_."

"Extraordinary?" Ginny asked loftily. "Extraordinarily spoiled and bratty, maybe."

"Well, _excuse_ me," he shot back, sounding a bit annoyed. "I wasn't an honorable and courageous Gryffindor; may my unworthy soul burn in hell."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It wasn't that."

"Oh really?" he asked quizzically.

"Really," she responded earnestly. "It was more the fact that your father bought you everything from an owl to a spot on the house Quidditch team."

"Don't talk about my father," he snapped at once, bitterly. And Ginny knew he meant it - a sort of provoked malice shown in his eyes now, fire and fury amongst emotionless gray. 

His parents, Ginny remembered at once, had been murdered by the Dark Lord.

"I'm sorry-" she started at once, but he cut her off.

"Don't try it, Ginny," he ordered, his tone menacing. "You're about as sorry about my parents as I am about that stuffy, pompous older brother of yours." He paused and added, quite darkly, "May God have mercy on his poor soul."

She felt as though a knife had been plunged into her heart and twisted numerous times - nausea took over her and she gripped the cold edge of the counter before ordering, in a weak whisper, "Get out."

"Oh, don't go all weepy on me, Weasley," Malfoy ordered, completely cold. "People die. Deal with it."

"You're a heartless bastard," she snapped. "You know that?"

"I've been told that a few times actually, yes."

She studied her hands; her red polish was chipping. She didn't want to think about Percy, not now. It still hurt too much to think about him...and little things, everyday things seemed to take delight in reviving the pain. Most of the time, she could go for weeks without thinking about it - it seemed as though he should still be alive, married to Penelope and working at the Ministry.

But he wasn't.

He was gone.

Dead.

She looked up from her hands. Percy had always hated it when she'd worn red nail polish.

Malfoy was studying her evenly, expressionless. She was quite sure that he wasn't the least bit sorry for what he'd said.

"Get out," she ordered, with force that she didn't feel capable of at the moment.

He turned toward the door, but before he could escape, a flood of Hogwarts students burst in. Voices immediately filled the once-silent shop as they began calling out to each other and examining the displays with shining eyes.

Behind them, a bushy-haired professor was desperately calling out orders over the many chattering voices.

"Madison, be careful with that!" Hermione Granger ordered, standing on her toes and craning her neck to see what the troublesome third year was up to. "And Christensen, don't push into the display like that, for goodness' sake! People spend time on those!" She shook her head, heading toward the counter. Ginny could hear her muttering "Honestly..." under her breath.

"Hermione!" Ginny greeted her brightly, forcing a smile and attempting to forget the wave of memories that had attacked her moments before.

"Ginny, hi," Hermione flashed back a tired but genuine grin. "Goodness, they're going to drive me mad."

"Where's Ron?" 

"He took some of the boys down to Quality Quidditch Supplies," Hermione said, shaking her head in fond disapproval. "I swear, he has yet to grow up."

Ginny nodded in agreement. "I still haven't quite grasped that whole 'Ron-the-professor' thing in my head."

"It's definitely hard to fathom," Hermione said, laughing a bit before realizing just _who_ was standing right next to her. 

"Malfoy," she said at once, quite stiffly. "What are you doing here?"

"Aw," Malfoy responded in a cruel drawl. Ginny was at once reminded of her Hogwarts days and his old treatment of her brother and his friends.

"How _sweet_," continued Malfoy, his tone drenched in sarcasm. "The Weasel and the Mudblood are teaching at _Hogwarts_ together. It's a match made in heaven. When's the wedding?"

Hermione studied him for a moment before replying, quite frostily, "Well, you haven't improved much, have you?"

He shrugged. "What's to improve?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed in annoyance as she proceeded to inform him what, exactly, could be improved, but Ginny toned them out as her eyes flew to the entrance. Ron was creeping in, holding a finger to his lips in an order to be quiet. A few of the girls attempted to stifle giggles and failed, but Hermione was so caught up in verbally abusing Malfoy that she didn't notice.

Smirking quite mischievously, Ron crept up behind Hermione (whose voice had now grown quite shrill as she listed off more things to an amused looking Malfoy) and wrapped his arms around her in a lightning-quick movement and dipping her down toward the floor.

"Ron!" she shrieked.

"Hey, gorgeous," he said with a cheeky grin.

"You practically _scared_ me to death!" she cried at once, fixing her arms around his shoulders. "_Honestly_, you're going to be the death of me!"

"Oh come on," he said, smiling playfully. "You know you love me."

"Not at the moment," she shot back, but he silenced her with a kiss. The girls in the shop immediately burst into coos, while a few boys laughed and others made gagging sounds.

Malfoy looked as though he sided with the latter.

"Well, ain't that sweet?" he asked, very sarcastically. "Just heartwarming, really. So you finally decided to ditch Potter?"

Ron broke the kiss at once and stared up incredulously.

"_Malfoy?!_" he cried, standing up at once and dropping Hermione. She fell to the ground with a screech, but Ron didn't even seem to notice.

"In the flesh, Weasel," drawled Malfoy. His cold gray eyes flicked to the ground for a moment where a distinctly ruffled Hermione lay, and he informed Ron in a deadpan, "You dropped your Mudblood."

Not wise.

Quite predictably, Ron's ears went red, he yelled out, "You bloody goddamn mother fu-"

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked from the floor.

The swearing stopped, but Ron took a swing at Malfoy and his fist collided with Malfoy's jaw, a sickening crack filling the air. Malfoy cringed and was about to throw a punch right back at Ron when Hermione pulled her fiancee out of the way and Malfoy staggered forward, nearly collapsing onto the floor.

The students had begun to cheer throughout this, and shouts of 'Go Ron!' and 'Punch him again!' filled the air. 

"Temper, temper, Weasley," he sneered once he'd regained his balance.

"Sod off, you great son of a-"

"Ron!" Hermione said warningly.

"Draco, get out," Ginny ordered. 

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy obeyed and made his way outside.

"Hey Malfoy!" Ron yelled after his retreating figure. "Next time, do bring along Crabbe and Goyle, won't you? Then it won't be quite as pathetic when I kick your ass!"

"Ron!" Hermione squealed for the third time. The Hogwarts students all burst into laughter, and one of the older boys gave Ron a high-five.

"Excellent," the student praised.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, grinning broadly. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Ron!" Hermione said, and Ron's smile wavered a bit. Ginny recognized her tone well, and she knew that her bother could too - it was the 'you're-in-loads-of-trouble' voice, and would no doubt be accompanied by the Death Glare. Sure enough, Hermione had narrowed her eyes dangerously as she demanded shrilly, "What on _earth_ do you think you're doing, Ronald Arthur Weasley?! _What_ kind of excuse is this for the students? You're the most _impossible_-"

"Hermione, come off it," Ron cut in. "You know he deserved it."

"Well...yes," Hermione said, pursing her lips in a reluctant agreement. "But-"

"Gin," Ron said loudly, "What the bloody hell-" (he pointedly ignored Hermione's fourth shrieking of "Ron!") "-was Malfoy doing in here?"

"Er..."

Ginny was in trouble. Serious trouble. Never, ever had it crossed her mind that if she were to date Malfoy, sooner or later Ron would find out, and when he did, he would be _furious_, no matter what her true intentions were

"Well, you see," she attempted again. "Uh...he was just..."

"Buying candy?" Hermione offered weakly, looking very sympathetic.

But it was too late. Ron's ears had now gone as red as his hair, which was _never_ a good sign. 

Ginny gulped.

"_Don't_ tell me you're dating Draco Malfoy," he said in a dazed sort of hiss.

"Okay," Ginny said meekly.

This, apparently, wasn not the answer Ron wanted to hear.

"WHAT?!?!" roared Ron, his brown eyes widening to twice their normal size. He began to walk toward Ginny, his steps dangerously slow.

"What..." _Step._ "Are..." _Step._ "You..." _Step._ "THINKING!?!"

"Not much?" Ginny said weakly.

"OBVIOUSLY!" Ron exploded. "HOW DARE YOU SO MUCH AS TALK TO THAT SLIMY GIT?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID TO US AT HOGWARTS? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE CALLED HERMIONE?? REPEATEDLY!?!?"

"Ron, Ron, calm down-"

"HIS PARENTS WERE BLOODY DEATH EATERS, GINNY! _HE_ WAS PROBABLY A DEATH EATER! HAVE YOU TAKEN A NICE LOOK AT HIS LEFT FOREARM LATELY!? I-"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "You're making a scene-"

"I CAN MAKE A BLOODY SCENE IF I BLOODY WANT TO!" Ron shouted. He had now gone entirely red, and was quite a frightening sight to behold. "GINNY, ARE YOU THICK? STAY WITH HARRY! YOU WERE IN LOVE WITH HIM FOR ELEVEN BLOODY YEARS! THERE IS _NO_ WAY YOU'RE GOING TO BE MRS. GINNY MALFOY! I-"

"Ron, for the love of _God!_" Ginny cut in angrily. "It was only one stupid date! It didn't mean anything!"

"Did he kiss you?" Ron snapped abruptly.

Gulp.

"Not...exactly," Ginny replied delicately.

Ron gasped in horror - it would have been rather comical, had she not been terrified.

"_You_ kissed _him_?!?!" he cried, aghast. "Ginny, you've disgraced the family name! I'll never be able to look at you the same way again! _Never_ kiss me on the cheek again. _Ever!_ You hear me? _Ever_! I want none of Malfoy's germs, thanks, and I'm sure he has plenty, I-"

"Shut _up_, Ron," Hermione cut in.

"Go Professor Granger!" yelped one of the students.

"Shut up, Madison," Hermione ordered before turning back to her fiancee. "Ron, Ginny's an adult. She can date whoever she wants to."

"Oh, no she can't!" Ron protested, glaring in Ginny's direction. "Not when it's the Incredible Bouncing Ferret, anyway!"

"You're worse than Dad," Ginny accused.

"You want to bet?" Ron asked, positively livid. "You just wait until he finds out about this, Ginny! You'll really be in trouble then! You'll never hear the end of this!"

"Ron, go away," Ginny ordered, getting frustrated now.

"Oh, no I won't!"

"Come on, Ron," Hermione urged gently, tugging at Ron's arm. "Let's go over to The Three Broomsticks."

"Fine," Ron said angrily. 

Quite angrily, Ginny watched them leave, and couldn't resist calling out, "Oh, and Ron?"

"What?" he snapped irritably, not turning around.

"That wasn't the _first_ time I'd kissed Malfoy, either."

Ron's jaw dropped, and Ginny couldn't resist a small smile of satisfaction.

_Take that._

* * *

It was pathetic, really, that it was bugging him so much. 

Draco Malfoy had felt a lot of pain throughout his lifetime, be it getting attacked by a mad Hippogriff or suffering the Cruciatus Curse when assorted Death Eaters weren't happy.

Really, a punch in the jaw was nothing.

Or it _wouldn't be_, if it hadn't come from Weasley.

Draco swore bitterly under his breath as he rubbed his jaw gingerly and stared in disinterest at the displays in the shop windows. 

Damned Weasley...why couldn't _he_ have been killed in the war against Voldemort? He wasn't exactly a tragic loss for the wizarding world.

"Well aren't we cheery, Mr. Malfoy?"

He turned at the familiar soft, oddly piercing voice. Sure enough, it was her. 

Cryssa Raine made her way toward him, gait almost tantalizingly slow. In all the years he'd known her, she hadn't even begun to change.

And he liked it that way.

Her long, silky black hair was pulled up in an elegant twist, as it always was; her makeup impeccably done. Rouge added a faint splash of artificial life to her pale cheeks, her lips were painted a deep burgundy, and her chilling lavender eyes were intricately lined with kohl. A velvety cloak the color of red whine encircled her slender frame.

She was flawlessly, perfectly beautiful as she always was.

It was nice, that some things were always.

"Cryssa," he returned simply, walking toward her. 

A smirk played around the corners of her mouth. "And how is my darling ex-fiancee?"

"Can't you tell?" he replied, rolling his eyes.

"Bar fight?" she teased dryly.

He shook his head. "Little meeting with an old enemy."

"Death Eater?" she inquired.

Feeling slightly humiliated, he shook his head again. 

"Well then...?"

"Someone from school," he muttered.

She laughed; the sound was chilling, mocking. 

"Dear God, Malfoy," she said, "You're getting beat up by old school friends?"

"Believe me, he wasn't a friend," Malfoy sneered, quickening his pace. She kept up, while still appearing to be moving agonizingly slowly. "He was a Weasley."

Disbelieving laughter escaped her lips.

"A _Weasley_?" she repeated. "A Weasley gave you _that_?"

With one long finger, she lightly touched his jaw, and he flinched.

"Ouch," he snapped.

"Child," she teased, but didn't let him off easily. "A...Weasley? As in, related to that old Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley?"

"Unfortunately," Malfoy said. "It was his bastard of a son."

"And he beat you up," Cryssa said, clearly loving it.

"I would have beaten him into a bloody pulp if his Mudblood girlfriend hadn't pulled him out of my way," Malfoy snapped.

"Keep telling yourself that," she said, amusement obvious in her voice. "What are you doing with the Weasleys anyway?"

"He walked in," Malfoy said defensively.

"In where?" Cryssa pressed.

"Honeydukes," Malfoy said shortly.

"You hate Honeydukes," Cryssa said, very matter-of-factly. "What the hell were you doing in there?"

"Talking to someone."

"Oh really?" Cryssa asked coyly. "And who might this be? New girlfriend?"

He shrugged.

"I've been replaced, then, I see," she said, giving him her trademark amused half-smile.

"Jealous?" 

"Maddeningly," she drawled. "What's her name?"

"Why?" Malfoy asked suspiciously.

"So I can go hunt her down and kill her, therefore leaving you entirely for myself," she deadpanned. 

"Well, in that case, I don't think I'll name any names."

Cryssa studied him for a moment, violet eyes sparkling, before proclaiming, "She's a Weasley, isn't she?"

Damn her and her mind-reading skills.

"How many times have I told you to stay out of my head?" he asked darkly. "I can't stand your mind reading, Raine."

"It's _not_ mind-reading," Cryssa argued. "I just _sense_ things more-"

"Sensitively than everyone else," Draco finished in a deadpan. "How many times have I heard this?" He paused. "And yes, she's a Weasley." With a smirk, he added, "I only asked her out to bang her a few times and disgrace the family name."

"How very like you." Cryssa rolled her eyes. "Sex and scandal. Story of your life, Draco Malfoy. The day you actually care about someone is the day hell freezes over."

He gave her a sly smile. "Who's to say I didn't care about you, Raine?"

She scoffed. "Puh-leeze, Malfoy. I'm not a cretin. It was an arranged marriage. That pretty much eliminates the slightest possibility of love."

"I never said anything about love."

"Fondness, then."

A silence fell between them, but it wasn't awkward. It was merely the silence of two people who understood each other, who'd seen terrible things and still managed to be completely self-absorbed and aloof. 

He wondered sometimes what life would have been like if he'd married her. Their marriage had been arranged the summer after sixth year - Cryssa had been taught at home because her parents didn't approve of Dumbledore's running Hogwarts. The Raine family's blood was valued above any other wizarding family's, even the Malfoys'. 

Cryssa Raine was a descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself, and shared the same blood as Lord Voldemort's.

The relation was rather faint - her great grandmother was the mother of Tom Marvolo Riddle the second; Cryssa's grandmother was the defeated Dark Lord's older sister. Naturally, Lucius Malfoy had decided that his son had to marry into the family.

And so, after seventh year, he'd been scheduled to.

But the war had raged on all that year, and finally the Dark Lord was defeated a year after Malfoy had graduated from Hogwarts. His parents had been murdered, and he and Cryssa had broken their engagement.

They'd both been quite willing to make the decision - they'd never gotten along; quarreled constantly. Yes, there had been a spark of passion between them, there was no use in denying that, but there was also the constant need to be better than the other, and quite frankly, Draco hadn't liked it.

And yet since the wedding had been called off, they'd gotten along much better than they had formerly. It almost seemed as though they clung to one another, to phrase it in a pathetically cliché manner. They knew what the other had seen, what they'd faced, and they accepted it, bonded over it....

In silences like these.

But all silences needed to be broken.

"Crys?"

"Hmm?"

Draco swallowed, mustering up all the silken haughtiness that used to come easily to him. Where Ginny Weasley was concerned, it seemed to waiver in a manner that was most annoying.

"I think I need to apologize to her about something," he said.

"That's nice," Cryssa responded tonelessly.

Obviously she was going to make this hard for him.

How very like her.

"And I'd like you to come with me," he continued through gritted teeth.

"Come with you?" she repeated. He could hear the smirk in her voice, and didn't dare turn around to see it. "Need moral support, Malfoy?"

"Desperately, Raine," he drawled.

"Fine," she said, quite simply.

"Fine?" he repeated in disbelief.

That hadn't been nearly as hard as it should have been.

"Fine," she said with a shrug. "But..."

Ah, yes. There was always a 'but'.

"First, you have to buy me a drink," she finished, nodding toward The Three Broomsticks.

Draco gave her a wry smile.

"Deal."

****

A/N: Ron's Flying Instructor (he refuses to be called 'Professor Weasley', as it just creeps him out) and Hermione's the new Transfiguration professor, in case you wanted to know. :) I know JKR's said that they're not going to be professors, but hey, this is fanfiction! I've got this allll figured out...I'm planning to do a fic about Ron and Herm teaching at Hogwarts after this little piece of hell is over. :)

Which won't be for a while.

Yay?  


And also, I _am_ aware that Dumbledore said in CoS that Tom Riddle was the last heir of Salazar Slytherin, so don't feel compelled to mention it in reviews. :) It'll be elaborated on.


	7. Fate

****

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed! I love you all, dahlings. :) This chapter is freakishly long...fifteen pages, I believe. *cackles* I didn't mean for it to be so long, but then...gosh, it kept goooooing and gooooing....

:-) I know toward the end the writing's a bit odd; that was intentional. *nods* Fear not, I didn't suddenly lose my ability to write a grammatically correct sentence!!

****

Dedication: To my super-stylin' shoppin' sista Crys (PepsiAngel on Ff.N), a wonderful writer and amazing friend. Happy (very belated) Birthday! :-) Love ya dahling.MAY KIMMIE AND CANDIE REIGN ALWAYS! *cackles eeeevilly*

Er...sorry. Bye then. :-)

****

Chapter Seven: Fate

"Ginny, thank God."

No sooner had Ginny swung open the front door than she was greeted by Harry's desperate proclamation.

"Hi Harry," she replied, a bit unsurely.

"You've gotta help me," he said at once. "We're having company for dinner in an hour, and you know about me and cooking."

"Who's coming over?" Ginny asked, hanging up her coat and kicking off her shoes. 

"Sirius and his new girlfriend," Harry replied, grinning. "He owled me earlier about her - he's completely smitten."

Ginny smiled back. "That's wonderful. He deserves it, after what he's had to face."

"Tell me about it," Harry said, then promptly grabbed her arm and dragged her into the kitchen.

Luckily, he hadn't attempted to start cooking yet. The kitchen, in fact, looked perfectly intact, and revealed no evidence hinting that he may have made another attempt at something. Say, spaghetti sauce.

"So," Ginny asked, "What are we making?"

"I don't know," Harry said, rather miserably. "How long would pork roast take?"

"Much longer than an hour," Ginny replied.

"Well, good," Harry said. "We haven't got any pork."

"What _have_ we got?" Ginny wanted to know.

"Um..." Harry inspected the refrigerator. "Not much. Haven't been grocery shopping in a while."

"Should we magick something up?" 

Harry shrugged. "I never exactly mastered conjuring food that wouldn't cause a severe stomachache afterwards...should we opt for takeout?" Ginny was about to reply, but stopped as a rather devious grin spread out across Harry's face. "Or," he added, "We could make chicken soup."

Ginny immediately felt her cheeks flush. "You're wicked, to remind me of that," she informed him. The most embarrassing incident had taken place the summer after her third year - Harry had come to stay with them, and Mrs. Weasley had asked that he help Ginny make chicken soup for dinner. It had been quite the disaster, complete with Ginny spilling the soup and scalding Harry's hands, and it wasn't a procedure that she'd like to repeat anytime soon.

"Well, we didn't have the best of luck with it the first time, did we?" 

"One with a gift for extreme understatement would agree with that," Ginny responded, "But we could take another stab at it."

Harry shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"D'you have a cookbook?"

He tilted his head toward the open cupboard filled with assorted cookbooks. Ginny raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Collect cookbooks, Mr. Potter?" she inquired playfully.

"It's Susan," Harry replied, rather miserably. "She's set on making me into some great chef, and I just can't convince her that it's not a possibility. That right there is the product of three birthdays, Christmases, and random gift-givings."

"Must get old," Ginny said sympathetically, pulling her wand from her work robes and aiming it toward the cupboard. "Accio, cookbook one."

Obediently, the first cookbook flew over and into her hand. 

"I'm hopeless at cooking the Muggle way," Ginny informed him, a bit sheepishly, as she began flipping through the book. It was still in perfect condition - there wasn't a single dog-eared page or splotch of sauce that indicated it had ever been opened. It was quite different from her mother's cookbook, which had pages torn from it and plastered on the insides of the cupboard doors, as well as a considerable amount of assorted substances splattered across the pages.

"Here we are," she announced, triumphantly pointing at the blue heading proclaiming _Chicken Noodle Soup_ in bold letters.

Harry took a very dramatic deep breath and rolled up his sleeves. With an overly-grim expression he asked her, extremely gravely, "You up to it?"

Stifling giggles she replied, equally somberly, "I'll try to be strong."

"All right, then," Harry said, studying the cookbook intently as though it held the answers to all the world's mysteries. His just-the-tiniest-bit-too-long messy black hair fell into his green eyes, which were narrowed in concentration. Ginny felt her heart skip a bit, and it was a nice feeling; soothing, almost. She'd missed _this_, in all its sweet simplicity. . . watching an unaware Harry with the blatant admiration of a lovestruck school girl. In times like these, she felt ten years old again, before everything had gone so tragically wrong. Before Tom, before Voldemort's return, before the war, before the countless deaths...

Back when there had only been flushed cheeks and elbows in butter dishes.

"Chicken and broth."

"Hmm?" Ginny asked absently.

"We need chicken and broth," Harry repeated, giving her a small, amused sort of smile.

"Oh," Ginny felt her cheeks heat up. "Right."

_Now all I need is the butter dish._

She grabbed a can of chicken broth from the cupboard above her while Harry inspected the refrigerator for chicken.

"Do you ever miss...how things used to be?" she asked, very timidly.

She snuck a glance at Harry and saw him stiffen. He stood up a bit straighter and replied, tonelessly, "A bit."

"I...I mean, not the war or anything," she added hurriedly. "Just...Hogwarts."

"God, yes," he responded, quite sincerely. "I practically even miss Snape."

"Eeek. That bad?"

"'Fraid so," Harry said. "Just...I don't know. Ron and Hermione and classes and Quidditch." He sighed. "That was the only place where I've ever felt truly at home, you know?" After a pause, he added, "I'm almost jealous of Ron and Hermione for working there."

"I saw them today," Ginny remarked.

"Really?" Harry asked, sounding a bit wistful. "I wish I would have been there."

"Hogsmeade trip," Ginny explained. Harry nodded.

"I haven't seen them in so long. It's...weird. For so long we were inseparable, and then..." He chuckled, though it sounded a bit forced. "The next thing I know, they're engaged and I see them once every few months, tops."

Ginny debated inwardly for a few seconds before asking her next question. "Does it bug you, that they're...together?"

Harry turned and grinned at her. He seemed to have forgotten about his quest for chicken.

"Nah," he said. "They were meant to be. I've known it since my fourth year - sensed it since first."

Ginny grinned as a memory of the summer after Ron's first year popped into her mind.

"I remember," she said, "Ron telling me about her the year before I started at Hogwarts." She switched her tone to one lightly reminiscent of her brother's. "'At first I thought she was a complete terror, but then she turned out to be quite all right, really.'" She resumed her normal tone. "I asked him if he liked her, and his ears went completely red." She returned to Ron-voice. "'What?! Me? Like Hermione? No way! Yeah right! Don't be a complete git, Ginny. Shut up. Go away. Leave me alone.'" A pause. "'Me? Like Hermione? _Ha_! I don't like Hermione!'" Another pause. "'No, really, go away. I don't want you talking rubbish like that.'"

Harry was laughing. "To think it took him nearly five years to face the facts."

"He's always been a bit slow," Ginny said with a wicked smile.

Harry nodded, then added sadly, "I really, really miss them." He paused, as though trying to decide how to phrase his feelings, before saying, "It seemed like they were the first people that ever really cared about me, you know?"

"I always cared about you."  
Ginny flinched as soon as she said it. Dear _God_, why did she have to be so stupid around him?

An awkward albeit sweet smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

"I know," he replied, voice soft. "I suppose Ron and I are in the same boat."

"What?" Ginny asked faintly, bewildered.

"Well, we're both quite slow," Harry said, his voice very quiet. "But I s'pose I'm worse...it's taken me a lot longer."

They exchanged rather shy smiles, Ginny's heart pounding so rapidly that she felt faint. 

And in a comfortable sort of silence, they continued cooking.

* * *

"_This_ is where they live?" Cryssa asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Draco couldn't blame her as he studied the rather shabby cottage with its faded, peeling red paint. Rusty brass letters proclaimed '1414', the second four crooked from where it hung.

"Quaint, isn't it?" he deadpanned.

"One could put it that way," Cryssa responded, then quickly began to study her long, dark red fingernails. Apparently, the sight of the house was enough to sicken her. She'd been raised with just as much exposure to the finer things in life as Draco had, and quite frankly, he wasn't all too impressed by the house either.

He rapped his knuckles against the front door quickly before pulling his hand away, and Cryssa smirked.

"Repulsive?" she asked.

"Excruciatingly."

He could hear voices and laughter from inside for a few seconds before the front door swung open to reveal Ginny. Her cheeks were flushed pleasantly and she donned a radiant smile.

Great. Who knew what she and Potter had been up to.

"Draco," she said softly, the happiness quickly draining from her face. He felt a quick stab of satisfaction.

"Hey, Weasley," he replied evenly. 

Ginny's eyes flicked to Cryssa, who was studying Ginny critically. She apparently didn't pass the test, because Cryssa held her head a bit higher in an instinctive effort to show off her superiority.

"Who's this?"

"Cryssa Raine," responded Cryssa at once, her lavender eyes flicking over Ginny with distaste. "And you must be Draco's new paramour."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Draco, and he resisted the urge to stomp on Cryssa's foot, elbow her in the stomach, or something equally painful.

"I wouldn't go that far," Ginny replied icily. "And you're here because...?"

Cryssa opened her mouth to respond, a rather malicious smirk playing at the corners of her lips, but Draco cut her off hurriedly.

"Gin, can I talk to you?"

Gin!?

Oh, that had been wise of him. Real wise. Next he'd be calling her by nauseating nicknames like 'Schnookums' and 'Muffin'.

"What happened to 'Weasley'?" Ginny replied dryly. 

A strange feeling oddly like desperation overcame him.

"Okay, fine, _Weasley,_" he said, trying to keep his tried 'n true haughty, obnoxious tone. "Can I talk to you?"

"No," she said promptly, preparing to slam the door.

Draco, however, was too quick for her. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and muttered _"Immobiliarbus"_. The door froze, and after a few useless attempts at slamming it, Ginny gave up with an exasperated sigh.

"Fine," she muttered darkly. She led Draco inside; Cryssa followed, nose wrinkled in disgust as her eyes flicked over the unextravagant decor and furniture. 

"Gin? Who is it?"

Potter entered the living room, looking pitiful in a 'Kiss The Cook' apron, black hair flying every which way. His face immediately hardened in dislike as his eyes fell upon Draco.

"Why, if it isn't the great Harry Potter," Draco said scathingly. "It's just reunions galore today - first the Mudblood and the weasel, and now the glorious Boy Who Lived. It's enough to get one nostalgic."

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" Potter demanded, sneaking a glance at Ginny.

"I'm here to talk to Virginia, Potter," Draco said with mock innocence, smiling earnestly. "Surely there's nothing wrong with that."

He looked at Ginny; an odd expression that he couldn't decipher had come across her face.

"Don't call me that," she ordered softly.

"What?" Draco asked, confused. "It's your name, isn't it, Weasley?"

"It's Ginny," she replied, and he picked up the vibe that it was an incontrovertible topic.

"Can I talk to you?" Draco repeated for the third time in the last five minutes; his tone was downright pleading now, and he hated it.

"Fine." Ginny sank down onto the sofa.

"Alone?" Draco added, shooting a glance at Harry and Cryssa. Cryssa seemed to take the hint.

"Harry, I'd like something to drink," she said. "Can you show me to the kitchen?"

"It's that way," Harry replied, his eyes firmly fixed on Ginny. He cocked his head slightly to the right. 

"Are you sure you can't _show_ me?" Cryssa asked insistently.

Harry nodded distractedly.

Cryssa rolled her eyes. "_Fine_, then."

Draco watched as she disappeared into the hall, and waited for Potter to follow suit. The great savior of the wizarding world, however, didn't seem to quite get it, and Draco wondered for the millionth time how someone so dense could've beaten the most brilliant Dark Lord in the last century.

Pure dumb luck, no doubt.

"We're having company over," Potter informed him, green eyes flashing with pent-up loathing. "Could you come back another time?"

"I'm not coming into this wretched hovel again, Potter," Draco returned. "I won't be long."

"They'll be here any minute-"

"Harry," Ginny said, voice soft. Harry fell silent at once, and his attention flew to Ginny. 

So Potter _did_ fancy her after all. (That much was blatantly obvious by the way he looked at her.) It had sure taken him long enough.

"It's fine," Ginny continued. "How about you go check on the soup? Sirius won't be here for another twenty minutes."

Harry nodded reluctantly and made his way, _very_ slowly, out of the living room. The door closed with a click, and Draco sighed.

"Took him long enough."

"Don't think I'm going to leap into your arms, radiating forgiveness," Ginny said. Her voice was still quiet, but somehow piercingly so. "Do you really think that I'd want to get involved with someone like you? You have no compassion, Draco. None. If you can go around saying such horrible things about someone I love - someone who I would give _anything _to see again - then I want you to stay away from me."

Her voice trembled a bit, and he wondered, panicked, if she was going to cry. If there was one thing Draco couldn't handle, it was crying females. Especially crying females who were doing said crying because of _him_. (God knew he'd been helpless at comforting Pansy Parkinson...Though in all honesty, he'd never actually _tried_.)

He looked over at her and discovered with relief that she wasn't crying - however, her brown eyes were dangerously glassy.

He'd better try to be nice, which was quite unfortunate, as it was something he'd always sucked royally at.

"Weasley," he said, trying to sound comforting and wincing at the sound of his voice. He sounded like a whiny girl. Great. Screw that. 

"Listen, Weasley," he tried again, his normal tone returning, "I know that an apology'll sound like complete bullshit, but I _am_ sorry."

Ginny was quiet for a moment, as though considering his words, before promptly declaring, "You're right. Complete bullshit."

"Hey, I tried," he said defensively. As an afterthought, he decided that he'd better add, "And I meant it, too."

"Meaning something requires feeling," Ginny replied, almost bitterly. "And I _seriously_ doubt that you can do that."

"Fine," he said. "I surrender. It's obvious that you aren't going to believe me."

"Good," Ginny said. "And I don't forgive you."

"Fair enough."

An awkward sort of silence surrounded them, but Ginny broke it. "Who was she?"

"She?"

"That girl...snobby, porcelain doll one."

"Cryssa."

"Yeah. Her."

Draco shrugged off-handedly. "A friend."

Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?" She paused, then added in an over-exxageratedly low, velvety tone that was a rather accurate impression of Cryssa's, "Not one of your paramours?"

"Not anymore," Draco responded. A bit tentatively (or as close to tentative as Draco Malfoy could get, anyway), he added, "We used to be engaged."

Ginny's eyes widened slightly at this. "Engaged??"

"Shocking, huh?" he asked wryly.

"We both know you don't seem like the marrying type, Malfoy."

"It was arranged," he replied simply. 

"Ah," Ginny said, nodding wisely. "The merging of the valuable blood." She smirked a bit. "Do tell me, Draco, which disgustingly great wizard is she a descendent of? Merlin?" Eyes sparkling mischievously, she added, "Not Godric Gryffindor, I gather."

Draco shook his head. "Salazar Slytherin."

As soon as he said it, he realized that he shouldn't have. He could remember Ginny's first year, along with all the intricate planning that had been devised the summer before. He hadn't known about it until after the attacks had stopped, of course; his father had refused to tell him.

It hadn't seemed an important issue to him in the past. The Dark Lord and his ways had never been a stranger to Draco - even before Voldemort's rise to power, Lucius had talked of him often.

But now...

Now Ginny had grown pale, and looked vaguely sickened.

And at once it hit him how downright _wrong_ it had been; a naive eleven year old girl had fallen prey to one of the most powerful evils that had ever existed, and he hadn't realized how terrible it had been until this very moment.

"But..." Ginny whispered, very softly. "Tom. Professor Dumbledore told me that Tom was the last descendant of Slytherin."

"Dumbledore was only a man," Draco responded. "You all make him out to be some all-knowing deity. He didn't know everything."

"But..."

"Slytherin's blood line was powerless, until Voldemort," Draco said. "And then powerless after him. Most didn't even know that he had an older sister - Cryssa's great grandmother. But Cryssa possesses the kind of power that Slytherin did, that Voldemort did." He laughed shortly. "It's much weaker, of course. She only has the faintest traces...but it's there."

Ginny was studying him in a numbed sort of horror. 

"How...?" she said finally. "How can you associate with her? How can you stand her? Don't you _understand_ whose blood runs through her veins? She must be corrupted, _evil_-"

"She's just a woman."

Ginny studied him silently for a moment before speaking. Her voice was very grim. 

"I know what it's like to have that kind of power, Draco. I _had_ that power, that blood. Tom took over me; I could feel what it was like, to have that blood." She paused, shivering a bit. "You're endlessly hungry, endlessly craving for something that you can't quite place. You're restless, tired, superior all at once." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and he leaned forward a bit in interest. "The only time that you're _ever_ satisfied is when you know that you're hurting people."

She spoke with a wisdom that frightened him. Her eyes looked practically deadened; her voice was nearly expressionless, yet at the same time rich with a haunting sort of knowing. 

"I don't want her here, Malfoy," Ginny finished simply. "I don't want to see her again."

He knew that what she said was true - he didn't know _how_ he knew it; it simply felt _true_. And yet he wanted to defend Cryssa, to tell Ginny that she wasn't like that. He didn't know quite why...Perhaps it was because she was possibly his closest friend, maybe it was due to the fact that he thought he'd truly understood her and was now realizing that he hadn't at all.

He said one word, very simply.

"Okay."

* * *

Harry glared daggers at the door to the living room, wondering why it didn't permit more noise from the conversation into the hall. All he'd heard were snatches of the conversation, the most recent being '_apology...bullshit...'_

"I give up," he muttered to himself, standing up and promptly remembering the chicken soup. He rushed to the kitchen, hoping he hadn't burnt it, to find Cryssa sitting at the counter, sipping a glass of what seemed to be butterbeer that he'd snatched from The Three Broomsticks the day before after he'd finished his shift there. The corners of her lips rose in a cold smile.

"I found the kitchen."

"I see that," Harry responded, rushing to the stove and immediately checking on the soup. It seemed to be all right.

An awkward silence had filled the air, and he busied himself by lining up the dirty dishes next to the sink. He reached for the Insta-Sparkle dish soap (guaranteed to have your dishes sparkling clean, _without_ your washing them!), preparing to fill the sink, when he felt icy fingers brush against his forearm. For a split-second, a fire seemed to erupt inside his head. He hadn't felt like that in so long...

"It's rude to neglect your company, Mr. Potter," Cryssa informed him, pulling the dish soap from his hand and setting it back onto the counter. Her hand brushed against his, and the pain shot through his head again. 

His hand flew instinctively to his forehead, fingering his scar.

...His scar.

Panic immediately welled up inside of him. His scar burning...but surely, it couldn't be anything to do with Voldemort - Voldemort was dead, gone, destroyed. Harry had _seen_ him fall, watched his power tear from his body, leaving him defenseless.

It had been a strange, terrifying thing to witness, and Harry shuddered just remembering it.

He wasn't going to think about it. Not now.

Not ever.

"So, I take it the Weasley girl's not a romantic entanglement of yours." Cryssa sunk onto a bar stool and crossed her legs gracefully in front of her.

Harry shook his head weakly, wishing that she would leave. "No."

"Got a girlfriend?"

"Sort of...not really...yeah, I guess."

Why wouldn't she go away?

The pain in his scar had stopped, but he couldn't stop fingering it, fearful that it would return.

"Indecisive."

"Hmm," Harry muttered indistinctly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're not very talkative, are you, Mr. Potter?"

"Kind of...distracted," he replied, then said very quickly, "Could you leave, please?? I don't mean to be rude, but we're expecting company any minute."

She shrugged and rose very gracefully. "I'll go get Draco." With a lazy smile, she offered her hand to Harry. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Potter."

He stared at her hand blankly; there was _no_ way he was shaking it. He wasn't going to feel that pain again, not if he could help it. Too many memories came along with it.

"Yeah, nice to meet you," Harry said, quickly busying himself with taking bowls down from the pantry.

He heard her click her tongue disapprovingly, and when he turned around, the kitchen was empty.

He let out a sigh of relief at once, then studied the dishes. 

Ah well.

They'd have to wait to be done until after dinner.

* * * 

"Harry? Could you help me with something?"

Ginny glared at the clasp of her necklace, which never ceased to rebel at the most inopportune of times. Sirius and his new girlfriend were due any minute. 

"Sure!"

Harry entered her room, looking vaguely nervous. Ginny wondered why for a moment before remembering the previous evening's events.

She supposed she couldn't really blame him. He seemed to relax, however, when he found her fully clothed in a dark green blouse and black pants, and without the delightful Marilyn/Holly Golightly/Assorted Screen Temptresses facade.

"Can you help me with this?" she asked, holding up the necklace. "We don't get along, you see."

Harry laughed. "Sure."

He crossed the room and accepted the necklace from her, gently placed it around her neck, and hooked the clasp. One of his fingers brushed briefly against her neck, causing the spot to tingle.

This, she decided, was much nicer than demanding him to zip up her dresses.

He eyed her in the mirror once he'd finished. "So, what did you think of Cryssa?"

Ginny paused at this before proclaiming, quite matter-of-factly, "She's not one to cross."

"You got that too?" Harry asked, tone light but expression a bit nervous. 

Ginny nodded, wondering how exactly to reveal what Draco had told her about Cryssa's ancestry.

Ah well. Might as well say it right out.

"Harry, she's-"

She was cut off by the peal of the doorbell, and Harry grinned. "That's Sirius."

He waited for Ginny to rise from her vanity, and they both headed to the living room to answer the door. 

They swung it open, however, to find Sirius a bit distracted.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look?" he asked the woman with him. She was a bit younger than Sirius, and quite pretty with glossy dark hair and sultry eyes that reminded Ginny of old film stars.

"Only about twelve times," she responded playfully.

"Well, let's make it a lucky thirteen then, shall we?" Sirius offered. She giggled, and only then did the pair seem to notice that the door had in fact been answered.

"Harry!" Sirius said, grinning. "How are you?" He hugged his godson quickly.

"Great," Harry responded as they pulled away. "And you?"

"Perfect," Sirius replied, still smiling from ear to ear. "Ginny, it's great to see you."

"You too," Ginny returned. "Come on in."

Sirius stepped inside, hand-in-hand with his girlfriend. 

"And this," he said, beaming, "Is my amazing, adorable, beautiful, beloved-"

"Let's not go through the whole alphabet again, darling," the woman said, her dark eyes sparkling. To Harry and Ginny, she added, "Honestly, I can't take him _anywhere_." She offered her hand to Ginny, who shook it. "I'm Hadia Aurelius."

"Ginny Weasley," Ginny responded, smiling. 

Harry introduced himself, and they made their way to the kitchen. Everyone seemed all smiles (particularly a blatantly smitten Sirius), but Ginny couldn't bring herself to forget what Draco had told her about Cryssa. 

And, from assorted sneaked glances at Harry, she was pretty sure that _he_ was a bit uncomfortable about something as well.

* * *

Sirius approached Harry as soon as Ginny and Hadia began to clear the table after the meal (Ginny had insisted repeatedly that Hadia not help, but she'd finally given in when Hadia had insisted right back). 

Harry couldn't help but grin at Sirius - his godfather was positively glowing. 

"She's perfect, isn't she?" Sirius muttered excitedly to Harry, watching as Hadia disappeared into the kitchen with the dishes while Ginny folded up the tablecloth. 

"She's really nice," Harry replied in a similar hushed tone. "I'm happy for you, Sirius."

Beaming broadly, Sirius responded, "She's amazing. I hadn't felt true happiness in ages...I'd almost forgotten what it was like. But then she showed up in my life, and _wham_!" Sirius made a dramatic gesture with his hands, and Harry saw Ginny smiling in amusement from where she stood by the dinner table. 

"Complete bliss," Sirius finished. "I may have to reside permanently on cloud nine."

Harry shrugged cheerfully. "There are worse places."

As soon as he said it, he knew it had been stupid. Sirius's dark eyes seemed to flicker for a moment; a strange sort of distant pain shone in them, and Harry knew he was thinking of Azkaban. 

Harry worried about this, things like this, often. Yes, Sirius was usually cheerful and bright-spirited when Harry saw him, but he'd always possessed a strange aura of sadness, as though a piece of his soul had been lost that he could never get back. 

Sirius shivered slightly, and Harry winced. 

_IdiotIdiotIdiot..._

Luckily, at that moment Hadia approached from behind and kissed Sirius' cheek lightly.

"Hey you," she said warmly.

The glazed-over look in Sirius's eyes immediately seemed to disappear, and Harry watched in relief as a fond smile spread across his face.

"He-llo there," Sirius responded with a low wolf whistle. Harry felt himself blushing as the couple shared a brief kiss; he locked his eyes on Ginny so as not to stare at Sirius before realizing that Ginny was no doubt wondering why he was staring at _her_.

Harry raised his eyebrows and cocked his head toward Sirius; Ginny smiled and nodded in response. Feeling particularly mischievous, he struck a dramatic pose and began to wave his hands with flourish. Ginny stifled giggles as she watched him. Feeling oddly like Lockhart, Harry draped a dramatic hand across his forehead when-

"I think your godson is mocking us, Sirius."

Harry paused in mid-swoon, feeling a bit sheepish and extremely stupid. 

"Oh, is he?" Sirius asked, his dark eyes sparkling. "Well, Harry, the next time you and _your_ girlfriend are caught up in the throes of passion, you're going to regret that-"

"Really frightening," Harry cut in sarcastically.

Laughing, Hadia asked, "So, Harry, how long have you two been together?" She tilted her head toward Ginny.

Harry immediately felt his cheeks go crimson. 

"Ginny and I aren't-"

"We're not-"

"They're not-"

"-Together," Harry, Ginny, and Sirius finished in unison. 

Harry sneaked a glance at Ginny to see that she looked just as uncomfortably red as he felt. 

Good; at least he wasn't alone.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hadia said, looking completely unaffected. "So, who is your girlfriend, Harry?"

Harry looked at Ginny again, suddenly very uncomfortable about the question. It was a perfectly innocent one, of course, but Susan just didn't..._seem_ like a girlfriend. She was just the gorgeous blonde who occasionally snogged him stupid and gave him too many cookbooks for his own good.

That wasn't much of a relationship when one thought about it.

"She's not really my _girlfriend_," Harry said delicately, unwillingly feeling his eyes flee toward Ginny again. She looked almost...relieved.

_Why is this suddenly bugging me?_ he thought, almost annoyed.

"I just date her sometimes," Harry finished. "Susan Bones."

Hadia turned to Ginny. "What about you? Do you have a boyfriend, Ginny?"

"No," Ginny replied. The odd sensation of being watched filled Harry, and he somehow knew that she was looking at him. "Nothing serious."

It was now Harry's turn to feel relieved. 

Maybe she'd already forgotten about Malfoy already.

Maybe they could even set him up with Susan.

* * *

The Malfoy family owned six mansions scattered across Britain; two others in France. The one where Draco currently resided was one of the less extravagant ones, but he didn't much mind it. There was no way in hell he'd go back to Malfoy Manor, which had been completely destroyed along with his parents.

No, he was perfectly fine here.

Sighing, he pushed open the front door - Apparation hadn't seemed particularly appealing that evening - and walked inside, Cryssa alongside him. The maid, Mrs. Pearce, greeted him with a polite, "Good evening, Master Malfoy, Miss Raine" before disappearing back into the kitchen.

"I still don't know why you put up with this place," Cryssa announced, wrinkling her nose as she studied the grandly decorated antechamber. "Malfoy Manor was much bigger." After a moment's pause, she continued. "We would've lived there if we were married, of course...there's no way I could stand being here. Though I would have done quite a bit of remodeling in the parlors; nothing against Narcissa, of course, but I wasn't very fond of the decor-"

"Cryssa, shut _up_," Malfoy ordered, a bit angry. She _knew _that he hated the slightest mention of his parents, and _he_ knew that she was doing this deliberately as some sort of twisted revenge.

"Touchy, aren't we, Malfoy?" she asked, seemingly unaffected as she slid her arm through his own.

He rolled his eyes. "I _know_ you're mad about Ginny, Cryssa. You aren't exactly a gifted actress."

"Mad?" she repeated loftily. "God, _why_? I don't know where you get your delusions, my darling, but I've been completely over you for _quite_ sometime now."

"You're particularly unbearable today."

"Right back atcha."

He sighed in frustration. "Crys, just go home, okay?"

"What's wrong?" she responded, raising an eyebrow. "Did the Weasley refuse to forgive you? She may be smarter than I first gave her credit for."

"Goddammit, Cryssa, will you _ever_ quit that superior bullshit?" Draco exploded angrily.

She smirked at him. "Language, Malfoy."

"Don't even _think_ about doing anything to her, okay?" he snapped. "Don't even think about it, Cryssa."

"What are you talking about?" she responded, sounding a bit frustrated herself. "Do you realize how stupid you're being, Draco? Are you in love with that slime of society or what?"

Draco studied her silently, so angry that his blood seemed to boil. _Oh, if only looks could kill..._

"You're jealous," he finally said.

Cryssa laughed shortly. "_What_?!?"

"Jealous," Draco repeated simply. "You always thought that we'd wind up together again sooner or later, didn't you? And now that I've found someone else-"

"You _idiot_!" Cryssa shrieked - her eyes flashed, her cheeks were flushed in anger, and all dignity lay forgotten. "Malfoy, what the hell do you think you're doing?! That little Virginia girl obviously didn't like you as much as you like her. She's smitten with that Potter, even _I _could see that in the, what, thirty seconds I saw them together?" She shook her head in disgust. "Give it up, Malfoy."

She spun on her heel abruptly, heading toward the door.

"Don't do _anything_ to her, Cryssa," Malfoy hissed menacingly.

Cryssa stood frozen for a moment before turning around to face him, violet eyes dancing as she replied in an edgy whisper.

"Fine. If that's what you want, fine. I want you to be happy, Draco, and if you think she's the one to do the job, then by all means, continue on." She paused; their gazes locked. "But _don't_ you go accusing me of doing things to her. _Don't_. I'm not conspiring to kill your little girlfriend, Draco."

The air was thick with tension as they stared at one another, gray eyes piercing lilac ones. 

Then finally-

"Good night, Cryssa," Draco said coldly, turning and retreating up the stairs.He heard her sigh behind him before her clicking footsteps filled his ears.

* * *

"Convenient, isn't it, that they left right before dish-washing time?" Ginny asked Harry, grinning as she made her way toward the kitchen. Sirius and Hadia had just left minutes before: Sirius had remembered a pre-scheduled meeting with Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin at the Ministry of Magic. 

"Very convenient," Harry agreed, smiling back. "Almost..._too_ convenient."  
"Dun dun dun," Ginny said dramatically, then swung open the door to the kitchen and stepped inside. Thanks to the fact that Harry, for some reason, hadn't washed the dishes earlier that day, the entire counter was covered with dirty dishes waiting to be washed.

Fun, fun, fun.

Humming to herself, Ginny mused over the evening's happenings as she began to fill the sink with water. It had been a _loooong_ day; a violent argument with Ron, slight-but-just-perhaps-there flirtations with Harry, and even an _apology_ from Draco Malfoy, something which seemed downright impossible.

And Cryssa...

Ginny shuddered as she poured a bit of Insta-Sparkle dish soap in with the water. Despite Malfoy's proclamations that Cryssa was 'just a woman', Ginny couldn't bring herself to believe that. The descendent of Salazar Slytherin...

There was something _not right_ about her, and it wasn't just the snobbish attitude and eerily perfect appearance.

It was something...

Evil.

_"Virginia."_

Ginny froze at once at the sound of the voice, cold and malicious.

_It's just the wind._

_"My dear, sweet Virginia, do you see what you've become?"_

Just the wind.

It wasn't Tom.

He was gone, he was dead, she'd _witnessed_ his downfall.

It wasn't Tom.

Just the wind.

_"Virginia, look at yourself. I've destroyed you. You will _never_ be free of me. Never. I may disappear, I may seemingly be defeated, but I've woven myself inside your soul, my dear..."_

"No," Ginny whispered as the voice, _his_ voice, grew louder in her ears.

_"You will never be free of me. You _are_ me. I will always, always live on in you."_

Ice seemed to run through her; shivers shook her slender frame, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes were squeezed shut, she was trying to ignore him, trying to ignore his voice, he wasn't real, oh, but it was so loud...louder and louder..._Virginia_...he wasn't here, not really, she was only remembering, only remembering, _My sweet, darling Virginia_ but she wasn't hearing this it wasn't real he wasn't there he was gone he was dead he was gone he was dead _I've destroyed you, you _are_ me, we are one_ he was gone, he had left her, Harry had defeated him _Always looking to your hero, aren't you Virginia?_ he was gone Harry would come it would be all right she was just thinking, just imagining _He won't save you now, Virginia. Now he will _loathe_ you. Who could love you, my dear, but myself? You are part of me _she was dreaming a nightmare it was all just a nightmare it wasn't real she couldn't hear him those weren't his icy fingers against the back of her neck it would be all right Harry would save her _Potter can't save you now, Virginia; my lovely, sweet Virginia, I run through your veins_ no no no no no no no no no no no _I am inside your blood, your mind, your soul_ this wasn't real this wasn't real this wasn't real _I will never leave you_

_You are mine, you are mine, you are mine, you are mine, YOU ARE MINE, YOU ARE MINE, YOU ARE MINE-_

She screamed; a high, piercing scream that caused her ears to ring, but her voice couldn't stop. She had to keep screaming, Harry had to find her; the basilisk, the snake, it had been _her_! It was her fault, she'd hurt them, she was going to kill someone, Tom was going to kill Harry, Colin, Penelope, Hermione, Harry was going to hate her, he loved Hermione, Tom had _said_ he loved Hermione, Tom had _said_ he would never care about Ginny...she was a simpering fool, an idiot, pathetic - Tom had said this, Tom had said all these things. She couldn't breathe she was dying her vision swam and she could only see Tom he was going to kill Harry she had to save Harry he was going to die he was going to die she was going to die _YOU ARE MINE_

"Ginny!"

Harry.

Harry.

It was Harry, he'd come to save her, it would be all right.

Trembling, she opened her eyes. 

And there was no chamber.

There was no Tom.

But there was smoke, murky silver smoke surrounding her; where had the smoke come from? Was there a fire; was the house burning, would Harry save her?

And then...

It wasn't only smoke.

There were words.

Words, and a skull, misty and transparent; a skull and a snake.

The Dark Mark.

And the words...that was how Tom had written, a bit scribbled, perfect handwriting gone astray...

Not words, only one word...all the others had faded...one word...

_Fate._


	8. Remembering The End

****

Author's Note: Whoohoo! Get ready for one looooong flashback. :-)What can I say? I missed Hogwarts. And Crys forced me to post without proofreading (though I must admit that I was easily persuaded, as I _hate_ proofreading with a passion), so blame all my errors on her. :-)

****

Chapter Eight: Remembering The End

Fate.

The word hung lazily in the air; the hand in which it was written was slightly familiar. Faintly, he remembered. 

_"...This diary holds memories of terrible things...the Chamber was opened...the girl had died...it could happen again...the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned."_

The diary.

The Chamber of Secrets.

Tom Riddle.

_"TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE...I AM LORD VOLDEMORT."_

The Dark Mark.

Ginny.

She was crying silently; he could see her shoulders shaking. Timidly, he approached her. Still the word lingered in the air, though he desperately wished it away.

"Ginny," Harry said softly, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Ginny, what happened? Are you all right?"

She turned. Her cheeks were frighteningly pale; tiny tear rivers danced down them, and her chocolate brown eyes shone with a desperate fear.

"Harry," she said softly. 

He nodded, worried. "Yes, I'm here. It's all right."

"I heard his voice, Harry," she continued, shaking. "Tom's. It was in my head, and I hadn't heard it in so long, not since..."

And suddenly she froze. Her eyes grew larger, and she suddenly seemed paralyzed by fright.

"Harry, Harry, run!" she ordered in a shriek. "Harry, the basilisk, it's going to kill you - Tom is going to kill you! It was me, Harry, I've been petrifying everyone...but I didn't mean to, Harry! I didn't mean to! Tom made me! He was controlling me-"

"Ginny," Harry said, alarmed. "Ginny, calm down. That happened a long time ago, Tom was defeated, he's gone-"

"Hermione," Ginny continued; she was practically sobbing now. "I didn't want to hurt her, Harry! I know that you love her, Tom _told_ me, and I didn't want to hurt her, but he made me, Harry!"

"Shhh," Harry said, wrapping one arm gently around her shoulders and attempting to lead her out of the kitchen. He tore his eyes from the word and the mark. "Shh, Ginny, I don't love Hermione. Ron loves Hermione, remember? And she's okay now, they've made the Mandrake Draught."

Ginny brushed away tears with her sleeve. "Really?"

"Really," Harry promised as he led her into the living room, panic surging through him. She hadn't gone mad, had she? She would be all right, wouldn't she? What had happened? Voldemort couldn't be back, Tom couldn't be back...Harry had defeated him, and with a defeat like that, it was pretty much ensured that the Dark Lord would be gone forever. 

"But Tom, Harry, you have to _go_! He wants you dead, Harry. Just go. I don't matter as much as you do. Harry, _go_!"

She attempted to push his arm off of her, but seemed so weakened by the occurrence that she couldn't. He stared at her in horror - she _couldn't_ be insane. She wasn't. (Though right now she did seem quite the likely candidate for St. Mungo's.)

Perhaps this was all just some sort of bizarre dream...

And then-

"Harry?" Ginny asked, very weakly. She sat down on the sofa. 

"Yes?" he asked anxiously, sitting next to her.

"What just happened?"

Harry sighed in relief. "You...you're all right then?"

"I suppose so," she said, though she didn't look all right.

"What happened?"

"I...I was just washing the dishes," Ginny said, visibly shaken. "And then I heard his voice...Tom's, I mean. And then....it was like my second year was happening all over again - it was terrible. And then...I opened my eyes, and I saw the Dark Mark. And the word... 'Fate'..." She shivered. "That's his handwriting."

"But how?" Harry asked. "How could he be conjuring the Dark Mark? He's gone, Ginny. We both saw it."

Ginny nodded, a far-off look in her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then apparently thought the better of it and shut it again.

"Maybe..." 

Her voice trailed off.

"What?" Harry urged.

"Maybe..." She paused, then said quietly, "I heard his voice." Another pause. "He says that he's inside of me. He's part of me."

Harry studied her curiously.

"I just...maybe it was...never mind."

He wanted to question her further, but something in her tired expression told him that it would be wrong to. Instead he helped her up, a bit awkwardly, from the sofa, and, with one arm wrapped around her shoulders, led her to her bedroom. She didn't resist, and let out a little grateful sigh as she sunk onto her bed. Her eyes were already fluttering open and closed, and within seconds her breathing became soft and even.

Harry crept soundlessly toward the door, eyes fixed on her all the while. 

Had he been an idiot to think that all of this was over? It seemed that it was a sick twist of fate that Voldemort would haunt him and the people he cared about until he died. Even after Harry had defeated Voldemort, he still didn't leave him. 

Cryssa. It had to be Cryssa. His scar had burned at her touch; that hadn't happened in ages. And Ginny knew more about Cryssa - Malfoy had told her, no doubt. Ginny had tried to tell him something earlier before Sirius and Hadia had arrived, something about Cryssa.

But there was nothing that he could do about it that night. Ginny was asleep, and he might as well get some sleep as well. 

There was always the morning to dwell on it.

* * *

__

"Fizzing Whizbees."

The great stone gargoyle hopped aside obediently, and Harry began to climb the winding staircase to Professor Dumbledore's office. He nervously ran a hand through his hair and tried to shake the feeling of nervousness that had been building over the past few days. All in the wizarding world had been disastrous for the past month, and Harry didn't like it. Something was going to happen, he was sure of it...Something terrible.

Biting his lip, he rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Come in," Dumbledore's voice called from the other side.

Harry swung open the door and stepped inside to see Dumbledore standing beside Fawkes' perch, absently stroking the Phoenix's scarlet feathers.

"Hello, Harry," the headmaster said without looking up.

"Hello, Professor," Harry replied, attempting to sound calm. "Any news? Have you heard from Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "No. Not in quite sometime, Harry."

"Well, this isn't normal, is it?" Harry asked anxiously. "I mean, up until now he was informing us weekly. What's happened?"

Professor Snape's sudden absence might have been what was plaguing Harry the most. The Potions master had gone back to Voldemort's side to gather information for Dumbledore, and up until now had been keeping them posted regularly on the Dark Lord's plans. But now...

There had been nothing.

"Do you think he's...?" Harry's voice trailed off, and he gulped. Much as he disliked the Potions master's less-than-friendly attitude, he'd finally accepted that Severus Snape was an important part of the Order of the Phoenix, and many would have lost their lives were it not for him.

"No, Harry," Dumbledore replied, pulling a bag of lemon drops from his desk and offering them to Harry, who shook his head. The headmaster paused to pop a candy into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it, and then continued to speak. "I am almost positive that Severus is still very much alive."

"How?"

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled in a way that Harry didn't quite like. In a very far-off voice, he said simply, "I know how Voldemort's mind works, Harry. Not thoroughly, of course - I doubt even Voldemort truly knows that - but I get the gist of it, and he would not destroy a...pawn as valuable as Professor Snape."

"Well, then, where is_ he?" Harry asked impatiently. "Something bad is going to happen, Professor. I just _know_ it."_

"I cannot disagree with you there, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. "I too can sense something coming, but I feel quite certain that that something will be the end to all of this, one way or another."

Harry gulped. "One way or another? Well, that's not good, is it?"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "I firmly believe that good will triumph over evil. It is merely one of the more simple workings of our fascinating universe. Maybe not now, maybe not this battle, but someday."

"Someday?" Harry repeated, a bit panicked. "But Professor, our lives could be destroyed! Someday! I-"

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore cut in. "You must learn to accept the ways of the world. If this brings horrible things, which it very well could, we must learn to accept them. We must overcome them."

"But Professor," Harry said desperately, "What about the Muggle-borns? Colin Creevey was already killed. What about Hermione?" 

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I often forget what it is like to be young, Harry, and can't remember the time when I feared death. But at one time, I know that I did, and I doubt even now you can understand that it is only the beginning. So in all honesty, I don't know how to answer that." He took another lemon drop and held out the bag to Harry, asking, quite placidly, "Are you sure that you don't want one?"

"Yes," Harry said, a bit frustrated.

Dumbledore shrugged in a 'your-loss' sort of manner and put the candies back into his desk.

"Any other questions?"

Harry shook his head, still feeling a bit dazed.

"Well, then, Harry, I hope you won't think it too rude if I ask you to depart. I have an urgent letter to write to the Ministry of Magic that must be delivered by tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Harry said, a bit weakly, and turned toward the door. "Goodbye, Professor."

"Good day, Harry."

Sighing inwardly, Harry exited and closed the door behind him, then made his way dejectedly down the staircase. The gargoyle leapt back into place as he walked out into the rather empty corridor. Nearly everyone was in class, but the seventh years were allowed a free class period due to the fact that Divination, Muggle Studies, and Arithmancy were only required for three years. Hermione, of course, had been rather reluctant to drop Arithmancy, but had simply learned all there was to learn about the subject.

Running his hand through his hair again, Harry listened to his own footsteps echoing through the corridor before freezing at the sight of a familiar figure in billowing black.

"Professor Snape," he said eagerly, making his way toward the expressionless Potions master.

"Potter," Snape replied curtly.

"We were all getting worried," Harry said. "D'you have any news? What's going to happen?"

It was odd, how absolutely devoid of expression Snape's face was. He normally wasn't grinning broadly or anything of the like, but his usually intense black eyes now seemed almost empty...like the eyes of a corpse.

Harry shuddered involuntarily, and suddenly Snape's voice filled the air, very coldly.

"Crucio."

At once, a searing pain shot through Harry. He felt his legs give out under him - his muscles were being torn, his bones shattered; hot tears felt like acid as they stung in his eyes. He could feel his limbs twitching helplessly; his skin stung as though being punctured by a thousand fine needles.

And then, very faintly, he heard a voice.

"Harry!" one of them shrieked, terrified.

Hermione.

"What the bloody hell are you playing at?" he heard Ron roar; their voices sounded very far off, as though he were under water and they were above it.

"Stupefy!" he heard them yell together, but it apparently had no effect, as the pain persevered.

His eyes were being gouged from their sockets...he was slowly being torn apart limb from limb...his fingers were being bent back against the face of his hands...his raw skin seemed to be burning...

He heard Hermione's voice, very distantly, echoing through his head.

"Harry, it doesn't hurt. Harry, Harry, it's just a feeling...just a sensation. It's not painful. Pain is just a sensation. It doesn't hurt_. It doesn't hurt."_

He concentrated on her words fervently, and slowly the pain seemed to drain from him...

Just a feeling...oh, but his fingernails were being pulled from his fingers...just a feeling...a knife was twisting painfully in his side...just a sensation...he was being burned alive...it didn't hurt...it didn't hurt...

And suddenly, it stopped.

Everything seemed to come into focus again, and he sat up slowly. 

"What...?" he asked softly. "Hermione...Ron..."

Both had dead serious expressions on their faces as they studied him.

"How...?" Harry asked weakly. "There's no stopping the Cruciatus Curse. Only the person who cast it can stop it, Moody taught us that."

"The Cruciatus Curse isn't real pain," Hermione responded, her voice a bit shaky. "Only physical contact can cause real pain. The Cruciatus Curse is all just a state of mind...you can defeat it if you don't believe it."

Ron studied her in disbelief. "How_ did you know that?"_

"Bit of light reading," she replied, still looking very scared. 

"Snape," Harry said at once. "Where's Snape? What direction did he go?"

Ron pointed down the corridor. His hand was shaking slightly. "It was strange; he didn't even look twice at us. Just raced down there."

"He must be under the Imperius Curse," Harry said. "He wouldn't do this otherwise."

"I don't think so," Hermione said, a bit miserably.

"What??" Ron bellowed. "Hermione, think of all the slimy git's done for us! He's not going to just go get us killed now!"

"But Snape can fight the Imperius Curse!" Hermione cried. "We've seen_ him do it! More than once!"_

"You mean that overgrown bastard of a bat was on the other side the entire time?!" Ron said angrily. "Oh, I'll beat him into a bloody pulp-"

"Ron, don't," Hermione said at once, sounding incredibly tense as she put a hand on Ron's arm. "Don't you dare_. He's very powerful, Snape. He could kill you in less than a second. Don't be stupid."_

Ron nodded, but still glared violently down the hall.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Harry asked, feeling very tired as he stood up. "We have to go! Now! He could be killing people!"

He ignored his dangerously weak knees and rushed down the corridor, Ron and Hermione behind him. Fury pulsated through his veins - how dare Snape? He'd saved Harry's life more than once; he'd done a bloody good job of pretending to be on their side, and now after he'd safely gained their trust, he was going to destroy the castle! 

And suddenly, there he was. Harry could see him standing, motionless, in the middle of the next corridor.

Harry would kill him. He would kill him. The bastard deserved death. He was just another Pettigrew, someone else who had betrayed his friends, who had betrayed Hogwarts. He deserved the painful death that Pettigrew hadn't gotten.

The Killing Curse was on his lips when suddenly voices filled the air. Students' voices.

Panic immediately rushed through him.

All right. He had to do it now, before Snape could hurt anyone.

With trembling hands, he reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, then pointed it shakily at Snape.

"A...avad..."

The words wouldn't come.

And then it was too late - a group of first year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had appeared, led by Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. Sinistra froze the second that her eyes landed upon Snape.

"Go," he heard her say softly. "Go. Run."

The students, however, didn't move. They simply stared at Professor Snape, looking utterly bewildered as he rose his wand and pointed it directly at Sinistra. Certainly this was some kind of joke...

"Avada-"

"Severus."

And suddenly, Snape froze. Professor Sinistra's expression was one that Harry couldn't even begin to read - she stared evenly at Snape. No fear was betrayed in her eyes, her gaze didn't waver.

And then, the sound of glass shattering cut through the silence, and Harry spun to see what had happened. Tiny shards of glass and fine golden sand littered the floor in front of Hermione. He turned back to see how Snape and Sinistra had reacted, only to see that they had frozen in place.

"What..."

"Don't waste time," Hermione said at once, taking control of the situation. "That was a Timeturner."

"...You smashed it," Ron observed.

"Brilliant, Ron," she said, rolling her eyes. "I got it from Professor McGonagall this morning - I had a feeling that it would be needed. You see, when a Timeturner is broken, time stops around a few select people."

"How long do we have?" Harry asked nervously.

"Anywhere from one minute to fifteen," Hermione replied. "So I'll have to talk fast. I know what's wrong with Snape."

"He's a bloody evil bastard, that's what's wrong with Snape," Ron replied menacingly. "Can I just go snap his neck, Hermione?"

"No!" Hermione said harshly. "Just let me explain. Who knows how long we have. Now, if I'm correct-"

"And you always are," Ron threw in.

Hermione gave him a Look.

"Anyway," she continued, "Snape has been put under the Commodus Dominatio."

"And that is...?"

"Oh," Hermione wrung her hands worriedly. "It's a legend, a horrible legend. I wasn't even sure that it had existed until now. You see, the Commodus Dominatio can only be cast when two equally powerful wizards whose powers are completely opposite exist at the same time." 

"Dumbledore and Voldemort," said Harry.  
Hermione nodded. "Exactly. Oh, I've feared this for so long. It's very rare, you see, but this curse can only be cast by someone who's purely evil, and broken by someone who's purely good, or vice versa. And it's like the Imperius Curse, times about a thousand. It can't be fought. You completely lose yourself in the curse. Basically, you become a living puppet, and your soul is destroyed."

"You mean...Snape's lost his soul?" Ron asked, eyeing the Potions master's back a bit uneasily.

Hermione nodded sadly. "And not only that - he's been...oh, it sounds so awful to speak of a human being this way, but...well...programmed." She glanced at Snape as well. "Every move was deliberately planned by Voldemort - that's why he didn't do anything to us, Ron. And I suppose..." Another glance. "I suppose that he's going to kill Sinistra now."

"But why?" asked Harry. "What's Sinistra got to do with it?"

Hermione paused. "Did you see," she asked delicately, "How he faltered when she said his name?"

Harry and Ron nodded.

"I think...I think he's in love with her," Hermione continued. "Only an unbelievably powerful love, a completely pure love, could stop the curse for even a second. And that was much longer than a second." 

"Well, he can't just kill Sinistra!" Ron exclaimed. "That's awful! There has to be something_ left of him that will stop him?"_

_Hermione looked close to tears. "I don't know, Ron. I think he will."_

"But..." Ron looked lost for words.

"Well, what else d'you think Snape could be...programmed to do?" Harry asked. "I mean, I really doubt it's just to put the Cruciatus Curse on me and kill Sinistra."

Hermione sniffled audibly, but didn't break down. "Yes, there has to be something else."

"Maybe we should go see Dumbledore," Harry suggested. "He told me, just today, that he knows how Voldemort's mind works. He may know-"

"Harry, don't you see?" Hermione asked. A tear sneaked down her cheek. "There's no time. Something awful is going to happen. Hogwarts is going to fall."

The words were foreign and ugly in his ears.

"No," he said softly. "No. We need to do something. Something to save this place-"

"Maybe," said Ron thoughtfully, "He's a distraction."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, impatiently wiping away another tear.

"Well, how much damage can one man do?" Ron continued. "He can't be everywhere at once, can he? Maybe someone else is going to sneak in. Voldemort, Death Eaters. Terrible things have been happening for two years; a twisted stage production. And the year is almost over. Our side is falling. This is their grand finale. Voldemort is going to be here." He paused. "Harry, you're going to have to find him somehow. Find him and defeat him. If you do, everything else will be stopped. He's their driving force, he's the source of their power. Without him, everyone else will fall. Maybe Snape will even get his soul back."

Hermione shook her head. "No. Only Dumbledore could do that. Snape will die if Voldemort is defeated."

"Well, then-"

And suddenly, a rush seemed to take over them for a split-second, sound roaring in their ears as their surroundings rapidly lost and regained focus.

Time had resumed.

"Go, Harry," Hermione whispered. Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. "You have to go find him."

"Good luck, mate," Ron said, sounding a bit choked up.

"We love you," Hermione added, a bit weakly. "You can defeat him, Harry."

Harry nodded weakly. "Yeah."

And then, with one last glance at the two people he loved most in the world, he set off down the hall. Snape didn't even glance as he brushed toward them, and Harry simply ran with no clue as to what his destination was. Everything seemed blurred as he ran, a flash of cold stone walls and occasional hanging tapestries, and then a long flash of red as he neared Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Red...

He stopped and stared at the wall, a feeling of dread welling through him.

And eight words, eight disgustingly familiar words, had been painted there.

**'Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever.'**

__

And then he knew.

Without pausing to think, Harry fled into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She rushed toward him at once, a look of fear on her transparent face.

"Harry," she said at once, "Someone just went in; a boy with black hair, he looked around seventeen. And he was carrying a girl in his arms, she was unconscious."

Ginny.

Harry rushed forward without replying to Myrtle, but for once, she didn't burst into sobs. Instead, he could feel her eyes watching him nervously as he fixed his eyes on the tap with the tiny snake engraved into it.

"Open up!" he commanded forcefully, a strange hiss filling his ears instead of his voice.

The entrance to the chamber was revealed, and he ignored the memories of his second year as he climbed inside. 

Ginny.

He had to save Ginny, and he had to defeat Voldemort. There was no basilisk this time; no obstacles. He only had to defeat Tom Riddle.

He ran through the chamber without thinking, his own heartbeat pulsating in his ears. He was almost there...almost there....Ginny would be all right, he would save her. And he would beat Riddle. He didn't know how, but he would. A certain ferocious determination was pulsating through his veins, and somehow he knew that he couldn't be defeated that night.

The Chamber's huge, spiraling columns surrounded him as he ran faster; he could see the statue of Salazar Slytherin. And then-

"We meet again, Harry Potter."

A voice; high, cruel, and cold.

Shaking, Harry turned to see Tom Riddle standing behind him, looking just as he had during their encounter five years before. He smirked.

"We agreed it would be pleasant to relive one of our meetings long ago, Harry Potter," Riddle continued, an evil smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Virginia and I."

"Where's Ginny?" Harry asked fiercely.

"No need to sound so troubled, Potter," Riddle said with a cold smile. "She's perfectly fine. Believe me."

"You expect me to believe you?" Harry snapped angrily. "You're awful; you're trying to destroy us."

"Oh no, Harry Potter," said Riddle. "Not at all. I simply want one thing, and then I'll be on my way."

"What?" Harry growled, eyes searching desperately behind Riddle for a trace of red hair or any other sign that Ginny was indeed there.

"You."

Harry glared. "What do you mean?"

"You have powers, Potter," Riddle said casually, beginning to pace slowly back and forth. "Powers that I hadn't even imagined. I'd like you to join me. Together, we could do great things."

"No," Harry said simply.

"Oh, but yes, Harry," Riddle returned. "You could have eternal youth, as I have now. You could live forever, you could make anyone in the world at your beckon call." A hint of red seemed to swirl within his steely silver eyes. "You could bring your parents back."

"No," Harry said shakily.

"But don't you want your parents back, Harry?" asked Riddle. "Don't you want your parents, and Cedric Diggory, and Cho Chang? Colin Creevey? Rubeus Hagrid? Your dear Aunt Petunia? Alastor Moody? They've all died because of you, after all." He paused, a malicious glint in his eye. "Surely you must be...overwhelmed with guilt?"

Harry shook his head weakly. This was just one of Riddle's mind games...he wouldn't fall for it. He wouldn't. 

"What about that dear little Charms teacher of yours? Flitwick, I believe?" he continued. "That pathetic Professor Quirrell? He was too easy. What about Severus Snape? He's lost his soul, because of you."

"That was you," Harry said, hating the way his voice shook. "I couldn't do anything about that."

Riddle laughed - a high piercing laughter that brought into Harry's mind his mother's screams and lots of green light.

"How you do fool yourself, Potter," he whispered viciously. "You won't take responsibility for anything, will you? You simply blame all the lives you've taken on others. Just because they were not murdered by your hand doesn't mean that they wouldn't still be alive if it weren't for you."

"No," Harry said weakly.

"Now, Potter, who do you think you're fooling?" Riddle asked, tone almost sickeningly bright. "But don't worry...if you join me, all of their lives will be restored, and all your guilt will disappear."

He could still remember Cedric's body falling next to him, lifeless. Could remember so much crying and pain and aching and lives destroyed in the blink of an eye. It had all been his fault, all of it...he would give anything, anything to make it up to them...anything to make it all right...their voices, their last screams, their requests danced through his mind at a rapid pace; he could remember Cho smiling at him the first time he'd seen her, he could remember Hagrid's horrible cooking and Moody's gravelly voice shouting "Constant Vigilance!", Professor Flitwick standing on his stack of pillows repeating, "Swish and flick! Swish and flick!", Colin Creevey's overly eager, "Hiya, Harry!", Aunt Petunia snapping, "They died in a car crash, and don't ask questions." His father, smiling down at him and muttering nonsense words...his mother singing very, very softly to him at night...

He had to join Voldemort, he had to. He had to make up for the guilt somehow...perhaps he could see his parents again, and he could apologize, and he could be a bit nicer to Colin, and be genuinely happy for Cho and Cedric, and devour about thirty of Hagrid's rock cakes. He wanted them back.

"Join me, Harry Potter."

YesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYes.

'Hush little baby, don't say a word...Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird...' 'Yer a wizard, Harry' 'Take a bath, okay?' 'I really hope you do well, Harry.' 'I heard that if you develop wizard pictures a certain way, they'll move!' 'And if that mocking bird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring...'

Yes...he had to say yes. He had to have them back.

And yet...and yet...

It wasn't right.

"No."

At this, the world seemed to come back into focus; his head was spinning horribly, and he watched almost distantly as Riddle fell to the floor. His skin grew pale, his hair colorless...his deadened gray eyes shone red...his nose was reduced to tiny slits...

And then, suddenly, a green light seemed to shoot from him and filled the room. Harry's first thought was that it was the killing curse, but then he still found himself very much alive. Instead, a strange sort of malice seemed to dance through him, a power so forceful that he felt as though he was going to burst...he needed to destroy, to kill, to prove his greatness! 

...

It stopped.

Harry collapsed as the power seemed to leave his body, his eyes on Voldemort. He was Riddle once more, but looked pale, sickly. 

"I..."

His voice was very raspy and small. Very cautiously, Harry approached him.

"Fate...fate will take its course, Harry Potter. And our fight has only begun."

And with that, Riddle's head dropped weakly to his side; his eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling.

"Harry?" 

He turned weakly to see Ginny standing in the corner of the chamber.

"He's gone," Harry said, not quite believing it.

Ginny nodded.

Harry Potter awoke with a start.


	9. Complications, Revelations, and All That...

****

Author's Note: I know this chapter is awful - please don't hate me for it. It has given me _such_ agony, and it's taken so long, and I've been absolutely freaking out about it, so...yeeeah. It sucks. I'm forewarning you. I apologize wholeheartedly.

And Ron and Hermione are being mean to me, too, which is most unexpected. Usually I can write them easily, but in this chapter they're terribly OOC. Please, _please_ try to ignore that, for your own sanity's sake.

Also, I didn't bother to proofread, since I desperately just want to get this chapter out of the way and never think about it again. So I apologize for any grammatical errors, etc.

****

Chapter Nine: **Complications, Revelations, and All That Jazz**

(Or '_THIS DAMN THING TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE AND YOU'D BETTER BE THANKFUL FOR IT_', which is the title that Milla suggested. I rather like it.)

He didn't know why the memory plagued him so persistently.

During Voldemort's rising, Harry had witnessed countless awful things; he'd seen fellow classmates slaughtered, people he cared about in pain...

And yet none of those things haunted him.

Not as the Dark Lord's downfall haunted him.

It had been rather uneventful, considering it had happened to him. Harry had always imagined (quite horrified) that Voldemort's downfall would be filled with bloodshed and pain, lasting for a vast amount of time and quite probably taking Harry's life. 

None of those things had happened.

And perhaps that was why it plagued him.

It seemed as though the Dark Lord had never really fallen; the big, climactic event that Harry had always expected hadn't come.

And then there were his last words, echoing through Harry's mind even after he'd awoken.

__

'Fate...fate will take its course, Harry Potter. And our fight has only begun.'

Fate.

One word, lingering in silvery smoke aside the Dark Lord's mark.

Fate.

Shivering, Harry tried to shake the thoughts from his mind as he rose quietly from bed. He took his glasses from the bedside table and put them on before creeping out into the kitchen. There was only one known remedy to rid him of bad memories, and that was a huge slab of Honeydukes chocolate and a bottle of butterbeer.

Upon entering the kitchen, he found that Ginny was sitting at the counter and consuming those very things.

"That'd better not be the last one," he whispered, nodding toward the butterbeer.

"Fear not," Ginny responded with a wry smile. "There's one more."

"Thank God," Harry said, grinning back. "You scared me there for a minute."

He retrieved the last butterbeer from the counter and twisted it open, feeling its soothing, familiar warmth rush through him as he took a long sip.

"Chocolate?" Ginny asked, holding a piece out to him.

"Don't mind if I do," he responded, taking it from her. He sunk down onto the stool next to hers and they sat in silence for a moment. 

"Couldn't sleep?" he finally inquired.

Ginny nodded. "What about you?"

"Same."

Harry was quiet for a moment. He found himself wanting to talk to her about it, how it haunted him - wanted to ask if she couldn't forget it as well. He'd never talked to anyone about it before, but now...There was something almost intoxicating about telling her. Telling Ginny was different than telling anyone else - Ginny had had encounters with Voldemort like he had. Ginny would understand.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, her voice filled the room.

"Do you ever remember it? Like, _really_ remember it? As though it's happening all over again?"

Harry nodded, feeling inexplicably relieved. 

"He....Sometimes when I sleep, I relive it," Ginny continued softly, absently twirling a scarlet strand of hair around her finger as she stared upward into nothingness. "I don't like remembering."

Something occurred to Harry that hadn't before.

"What happened, when he came?" he asked curiously. "Before I got to the Chamber? How did he get you down there?"

Ginny paused - he wondered if he shouldn't have asked.

"I..." she said weakly, voice almost desperate. "I..."

"You don't have to tell me," Harry cut in quickly. "If you don't want to, I mean. I was just wondering...I always wondered..."

"No, it's all right," Ginny said softly. "It's just..." She took a deep breath. "I went on my own."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Ginny sighed. The sound almost seemed to echo in the quiet night air. "I...when he rose to power, I felt it. When he was angry, I felt it. When he killed, I felt it." She bit her lip. "I suppose it's because of the diary, in my first year. And I sensed him there, and I...I wanted him so badly, and..." Her gaze had fallen to the floor - he saw that her cheeks had flushed in humiliation. "He...he was part of me. I went down to the Chamber...I can barely remember it now. But I saw him and..." She sighed again, this time almost inaudibly. "I felt as though I'd been missing a piece of me for so long. It was an insane sense of bliss...something I'd never felt before. It was almost overwhelming - just this feeling that I'd never need anything again, as long as I had him." 

A long silence enveloped them, and Harry averted his gaze from her; she looked as though she was almost in a trance.

"And then he..." she paused, as though mustering up her courage. "And then he kissed me." She shuddered involuntarily. "It was awful; like my blood turned to ice. I'd never felt more cold...more scared. And then I remembered you, and I knew you were going to come, and...and I told him that you were coming, and you'd save me, and you'd defeat him." Another pause. "And he just laughed. It didn't sound like his voice - it was so cold and cruel. And he asked me, 'Do you really believe that your dear Harry Potter is some sort of god? That he's immune to me? My dear, sweet Virginia, how little you know.'"

She didn't look like herself anymore, as she talked. Her eyes had a strange glint that looked so utterly unlike her - her voice was cold. Harry felt fear ease up inside of him as he watched her.

"'He will join me, Virginia,'" she continued, very softly. "'He won't refuse me....Just as you won't refuse me, my dear, sweet Virginia.'"

A shiver shook her body as the words left her mouth; she looked so frail and small that Harry found himself wanting to protect her somehow. 

_But you can't,_ he told himself sternly. _You can't protect her from something that isn't there. She doesn't _need_ protecting anymore._

But she certainly looked as though she needed it now. She didn't even look like herself. Yes, she was still Ginny, with the petite form and the flaming hair-

But there was something in her eyes that scared him. Normally a sparkling chocolate brown, they suddenly looked dull.

Deadened.

"Ginny," he said tentatively, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said. Her voice was cold. Not cruelly so. Just cold.

The words she had spoken moments ago rang in his ears, in the voice that wasn't her own...

_'Just as you won't refuse me, my dear, sweet Virginia.'_

And suddenly, things all focused in his mind - a frightening clarity took over him, a fear seized up inside of him; icy dread mingling with a livid, hot anger. Surely Voldemort hadn't...he couldn't have...

"Ginny," he spoke her name again. "He didn't...?"

"It doesn't matter," she whispered, gaze averted. "It's in the past." Almost subconsciously, her hand flew to her neck, fingertips lightly grazing pale skin.

And for an instant, her hand disappeared, replaced by another...long, thin fingers encircled her throat...she shivered, and a sickened certainty filled him.

"He did," he whispered hoarsely.

"Harry, it doesn't _matter_-"

"Does anyone know?" Harry asked, heart beginning to race. "Did you ever tell anyone? Ron? Hermione? I-"

"Stop," Ginny requested simply.

"Ginny." His hands were trembling with silent fury now. "How....how could you just stay quiet? How could you just _let him_-"

"Harry, it's in the past." She sounded very tired. "There's nothing that can be done. I don't want to think about it."

She looked so saddened, so utterly...old. Jaded. Harry didn't like seeing her like this. She'd always seemed so _young_ to him; so sweet and vulnerable and _alive_. 

And the Dark Lord had ruined that. She had been forced for the past five years to live with agonizing memories that existed only within herself: no one deserved that eternal torment.

If only he had gotten there sooner. _He _could have prevented this. _He_ could have saved her.

But he hadn't.

"I'm sorry," he said numbly.

"For what?" she asked, voice expressionless.

"I....I didn't save you," he said weakly.

She shrugged. "You can't save everyone."

A horrible, sinking sensation filled his stomach - guilt had enveloped him in its suffocating embrace, and didn't show any sign of relenting.

She gave him a weak smile and placed a hand lightly on his arm. "It's _over,_ Harry. I'm fine."

He nodded, her words barely registering in his mind.

Sighing, Ginny leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "Please don't worry."

She rose quietly and left the kitchen, the shadow of her kiss still tingling on his face.

A sudden thought came to him, and he tiptoed out into the hall behind her, leaving the chocolate and butterbeer completely forgotten. 

She stood leaning against the wall, head in her hands.

"Ginny," Harry said softly, taking a few tentative steps toward her.

She didn't reply.

"Ginny, it was Cryssa, wasn't it?" he asked. "Who conjured the Dark Mark earlier?"

Of course it was Cryssa. He didn't even know why he was bringing this up - it was a subject that obviously pained her, and he was only making it worse. Why couldn't he ever shut up when he was so clearly _supposed to_? Was it healthy to be this stupid? Was it _possible_? Did he-

"Harry."

The sound of her voice immediately brought him from his self-bashing reverie.

"When...." she sighed and ran a hand through her scarlet hair, still eyeing the floor. "When Tom....when _Voldemort_ was defeated, he didn't disappear completely." She looked up at him - it struck him how tired her face was. "There are still traces of him left behind....In you-" her gaze flew to his scar, "...In me."

"Ginny," Harry said, startled.

Oh God. She couldn't actually think he'd done this...could she?  
"Ginny," he said again, desperately, "I didn't conjure the Dark Mark. I didn't, I would never-"

"I know," she said, very simply. "Good night, Harry."

And she disappeared down the pitch black hallway. Harry stared after her in disbelief, her words echoing through his mind.

_In you..._

In me.

*

House cleaning.

No words in the vernacular could express how much she _hated_ house cleaning.

Perhaps hated was too weak a word. Detested! Despised! Loathed with the passion of a thousand endlessly smoldering suns!

Yes, the last one fit quite nicely.

And of course Harry oh-so-conveniently had to work the lunch shift at the Three Broomsticks, leaving Ginny the privilege of being able to clean all by herself.

Yay.

Running a hand through her hair, she pointed her wand at the tattered dishrag and muttered _"Pannus actus"._ The rag obediently began to scrub the kitchen counter, and Ginny continued to wash the dishes. She didn't trust them to wash themselves - the last time she'd attempted that spell, she'd wound up with a lot of broken china and a not-so-thrilled Mrs. Weasley.

Ron and Hermione were arriving that evening from Hogwarts - apparently, McGonagall had given them the Christmas holidays off so that they could arrange their wedding, which was set to take place on New Year's.

And so Ginny got to clean the house.

She was downright positive that Ron wouldn't care whether it was spotless or an absolute wreck, but she wasn't as sure about Hermione, who seemed to be just a bit of a neat freak. It was best, Ginny had decided, not to take any chances.

Ginny didn't mind it, really, despite the heated proclamations of loathing that zoomed around her mind. It kept her thoughts away from..._things._ Away from that Mark, and that memory, and....

She shivered involuntarily, and immediately hated herself for doing it.

He wasn't there anymore.

He was just a memory.

She hadn't thought of him for so long - she'd simply willed him out of her mind, and obediently, he'd gone. 

She wasn't about to let him come back anytime soon.

"Done," she muttered as she rinsed the last dish. Allowing herself a little victory dance, she announced, "Time to move on to the living room."

Upon entering the living room, however, she discovered that a certain someone had already made himself very much at home.

"Your fireplace was open," Draco Malfoy informed her in a deadpan from where he sat on the sofa.

"Great," Ginny replied dryly. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Just felt like dropping by," Draco replied. He studied her quickly, a smirk coming to his lips at her disheveled appearance. "Lookin' good, Weasley."

"What _is_ that, tradition?" Ginny demanded in irritation. 

"Well, I know how you love it," he said, grinning in an extremely aggravating manner. "So, house cleaning?"

Ginny nodded. "House cleaning, self torture, it's all the same."

"Care for some help?"

"Nah, I think I've got it under control."

"Good," Draco said smugly, "Because I wasn't going to."

Ginny smirked. "I bet you've never even washed a dish."

"Am I supposed to?" he asked innocently.

Ginny shook her head in disgust. "Or made a bed..."

"Servants exist for a _reason_, Weasley."

"Bastard," she muttered, just conveniently loud enough for him to hear.

Draco rose from the sofa and took a few mock-threatening steps toward her. "_What_ was that, Weasley?"

She smiled innocently. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Draco dear."

He continued to approach her. "Are you _sure_?"

She nodded, widening her eyes. "Oh, yes. Positive."

"You may as well confess your vile name-calling act now, Weasley." Malfoy grinned lazily. "Or I just might have to resort to drastic measures."

"Oooh, I'm _scared_," she deadpanned.

"You should be, Weasley," Draco said. "Prepare to experience torture in its finest hour...its most terrifying form..."

"George singing?" Ginny suggested.

Draco sneered. "_No_, Weasley. It's far surpassed that." He lowered his voice and whispered, quite dangerously, "Prepare to be...._tickled_."

She snorted. "_Rictusempra_ away, baby."

Gray eyes dancing mischievously, he announced, "I prefer to do it the Muggle way."

And with that, he lunged forward and jabbed his fingers against her ribs, tickling her violently.

"This...is so not...Slytherin-style badass of you...Malfoy," Ginny gasped between bouts of laughter. "Stop...you'll ruin your reputation...major blackmail..."

"_What_ did you call me, Weasley?" Malfoy asked slyly, tickling her even more insistently.

"Bastard!" she yelped, swatting at him lightly with her hands. "Bastard bastard bastard bastard bastard!"

He drew away from her, smiling in an infuriatingly satisfied manner. "That's what I thought you said."

She pulled a face at him, but he paid no mind - instead, he looked around the living room. The television in the corner seemed to strike his interest.

"Hey," he said, "Is this one of those teleseer things?"

"Teleseer?" Ginny repeated, not able to hold back laughter. "Television, you mean?"

"Whatever," he said. "I don't bother with Muggle trash. What are you doing with one of these, anyway?"

"It's Harry's," she informed him. Draco's lip curled in a sneer of dislike immediately, but she ignored him. "It's quite neat, actually. Hermione lent us some great films."

"Films?" he repeated blankly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "This is sad. Truly sad."

"Excuse me, Weasley," he snapped, "But any self-respecting wizard wouldn't own pathetic Muggle forms of entertainment."

Ginny smiled deviously at him. "I bet you'd like it."

Draco snorted. "Yeah, right."

"No," Ginny argued. "You would. Seriously. Let's watch something."

"I thought you were supposed to clean the house?" he asked, shiftily eyeing the not-particularly-messy room.

She shrugged. "I'll straighten up while we watch it." She paused. "Are you...scared?"

"Scared?" he smirked. "Me? Of a teleseer?"

"Tele_vision_."

"Whatever," he snapped. "Come on, Weasley, you must be insane if you think I'm scared of..._that_."

"Well, then, that settles it," Ginny said, snatching up _My Fair Lady_ from the stack of videos next to the TV. "I'm just going to have to test how much of a man you are."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Prepare to experience....My Fair Lady," she said, tempted to add a melodramatic '_dun dun DUN!_' at the end but resisting the urge.

"My Fair....Lady?" he repeated skeptically.

"It's a musical," Ginny informed him, beaming.

"Musical?"

"They sing," Ginny said. "Randomly. Just burst out into song. It's great."

Draco blinked as Ginny popped the tape into the VCR and the sweeping overture filled the room. Ginny began to hum along loudly as she sank down next to him, for the sole purpose of scaring him as much as humanely possible.

"What's _wrong_ with you, Weasley?" he demanded.

She smiled sweetly. "Nothing."

*

"_Harr-yyyy!_"

Harry rolled his eyes and continued to wipe down the counter. The Three Broomsticks was buzzing with the merry laughter and lighthearted conversations of its customers, who were scattered around the dimly lit pub. It was all in all a pleasant atmosphere, one that he usually didn't mind. Normally, he could tolerate his job - it wasn't all that demanding, and Madame Rosmerta often sent home free packs of butterbeer with him.

But _normally,_ Susan wasn't here.

"Harry, this is so _boring_!" she whined, rapidly drumming her lurid pink nails against the counter. "Can't we leave?"

"Susan," he said impatiently, "I'm_ working_."

"When do you _stop _working?"

"Thirty seconds less than the time I told you half a minute ago," he replied through gritted teeth.

She glared at him, and he gave her a very broad, very forced grin in return.

"I don't know _why_ I put up with you," she sneered.

Ooooh. This could be good. _Very_ good. If he made her angry enough, he might have a Susan-free Christmas. 

What he needed now was a bona fide, genuine, wretchedly dramatic public break-up.

And yes, this situation definitely had potential.

"Then maybe you shouldn't put up with me," he replied, rather unenthusiastically. _How_ many times had they had this conversation?

Susan paused, apparently considering his words.

_Come on,_ Harry urged silently. _You're angry. You hate me. I'm the worst boyfriend in the history of the universe._

She narrowed her eyes.

_Go on...yell out something dramatic for the whole pub to hear...cry...dump me..._hate_ me._

Susan seemed to make up her mind...

_Hate the Harry...hate the Harry..._

...And to his utter dismay, she smiled.

_Dammit._

"You know I adore you, Harry," she cooed. "I'd never let anything come between us during the holidays!"

"Last Christmas you hurled a chocolate cake at my head," Harry volunteered hopefully.

"Oh, that's all in the past," she said amiably. (Harry groaned.) "So, what _are_ we doing for Christmas this year?"

Oh. Great.

"Erm," he said, "Actually, Ginny and I are having Ron and Hermione come to stay."

Susan wrinkled her perfectly shaped nose.

"Ew," she said. "That bushy haired know-it-all and the redheaded sleazeball who's always ogling me?"

"They're my best friends," Harry reminded her tersely.

"_Why_?" Susan demanded. "Aurgh, Harry, don't let them come. That Hermione Granger _hates_ me."

"...Er," Harry said intelligently. Susan had, quite miraculously, been right about that. During Harry's birthday party earlier that year, Susan had taken Hermione aside and lectured her on proper hair care and its longtime benefits. (_"Guys might actually be _interested_ in you if you did something about that frizz fest."_ A look of sheer incredulity from Hermione - _"I know, I know, it seems, like, completely impossible, but dare to dream!"_) To top off the evening from hell, Susan had flirted shamelessly with Ron, which Ron hadn't exactly disliked.

Yup, it was safe to say that Hermione wasn't one of Susan's biggest fans.

"Well," Harry said helpfully, "Didn't your family want to see you this Christmas?"

Susan smiled. "I'd rather be with _you_."

"Don't say _that_," Harry said desperately. "Christmas is a time for family!"

"Then why aren't _you_ spending Christmas with _your_ family?" Susan asked, looking rather triumphant.

"My family is _dead_, Susan," he reminded her shortly.

"Oh, yeah," she said, apparently not the least bit aware that she'd struck a nerve. "Right."

"Right," he echoed in a rather menacing growl.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. "Is something wrong?"

_No, Susan, nothing's wrong. Nothing at all. First, you blatantly insult my best friends, and then you apparently find nothing wrong with reminding me that my parents are, in fact, dead. Nothing wrong indeed._

"Maybe you should go," Harry said weakly.

"What?" she asked, alarmed. "Why?"

That was a good question. The obvious answer was '_you're annoying the hell out of me, that's why'_, but he couldn't very well _tell_ her that. His eyes fell upon her tacky fingernails, and he asked at once:

"Didn't you have a manicure appointment this afternoon?"

She studied him in confusion. "No, I don't think so."

"Well, er," he bit his lip. "Maybe you..._should_ get one? That pink nail polish really isn't working for you."

Susan gasped in horror.

Bwahaha. Jackpot.

"How..._dare_...you?!" she demanded, positively seething. "I can't believe you just said that. _Tell me_ that you did not just say that."

"I did not just say that," he replied obediently.

"Yes you _did!_" she wailed. "Harry, I can't believe you. I really can't. You have to be the most awful boyfriend on the face of this planet."

He resisted the urge to grin broadly and instead said, very tonelessly, "No, Susan. Please stay. Don't get angry about this."

"You brought this on yourself, Harry Potter!" she screeched before promptly rising from the barstool where she sat and flouncing out of the pub. A few of the customers stared after her in interest before looking back at Harry.

"Nice girl you've got there," Rosmerta commented as she emerged from the back with a new jug of pumpkin juice.

Harry watched as she pranced out onto the street, staring at her fingernails and muttering to herself.

"Thanks."

*

Cryssa was utterly tired of this.

He had been seeing this Ginny girl for, what, three days?

Three days, and there had been an unhealthily drastic change in Draco Malfoy's personality.

Three days, and he was _singing_.

All right, he was humming. But it was still frightening nonetheless.

Draco Malfoy did not sing. Draco Malfoy did not hum. Anything that sounded remotely musical did not escape Draco Malfoy's lips.

...Until now, anyway.

"Have a nice time with your girlfriend?" she asked as he entered his bedchamber. She'd made herself at home for the last hour, lazily flipping through old spellbooks and collections of Shakespeare sonnets that Narcissa had forced him to memorize throughout his youth.

"Making yourself at home, Raine?" he demanded, smirking at her as he removed his cloak and tossed it carelessly aside.

She shrugged, stretching her arms above her head with a feline grace. "You like this girl, Malfoy?"

He groaned. "She made me watch My Fair Lady."

"Great," Cryssa said tonelessly. "And what the hell is that?"

"Some Muggle film," he said, sinking down next to her on the bed. "Everyone was....singing."

"Hellish," Cryssa commented.

"To the point of no return."

"You sure take a lot of abuse," she said. "You must really like this one, despite her numerous torture antics."

"She's sweet," he said simply.

Cryssa raised an eyebrow at him. "Sweet?"

He nodded, almost defensive. "So? Is there something wrong with that?"

"Nothing," she said innocently, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I just never would have expected Draco Malfoy to fall for...._sweet_."

"I never said I fell for her," he said calmly; she could tell that he was struggling to sound nonchalant.

"Some things don't have to be said," she informed him.

He seemed to consider her words for a moment. "Why do you keep harping on about this, Crys?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said at once. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was jealous or something of that ridiculous nature. She simply knew that it wasn't going to work. Quite frankly, she couldn't think of two people less suited for one another than Draco and that Weasley girl. It simply wasn't meant to be. 

Fate wouldn't will it.

"Draco, you know why I don't want you to be with her," Cryssa said quietly. "You _know_ why it won't work."

She felt him sit up a bit straighter next to her.

"She'll never forgive you if she finds out, Draco," Cryssa continued, her voice soft. She knew that he was hanging on her every word, though he did a good job of hiding it. "Even she's not that sweet. She'll hate you, Draco."

"She..." he said weakly. "Cryssa, I _don't_ care. I don't want some kind of sappy sentimental relationship with her, all right? I don't fucking care."

"Don't swear."

"Fuck off."

Perfect. She had him now.

"You killed her brother, Draco," she said, allowing the tiniest bit of triumph to leak through in her silky tone. "You are the reason that Percy Weasley is dead. She is _not_ going to forgive you."

"Get the fuck out of here," he ordered coldly.

Cryssa allowed a smug half-smile to toy around the corners of her lips. "Feeling guilty, are we, Draco?"

And with that, she left, deliberately leaving the door ajar.

She knew he was watching her.

She liked the idea.

*

"You're here!" 

Ginny threw her arms around Hermione, and then her brother, both of who looked incredibly relieved to be away from Hogwarts.

"Thank you for having us come to stay," Hermione said, smiling. "I've been quite desperate for a break for a while now; it's so nice to just be able to relax over the holidays."

Ron, however, was surveying the living room rather critically.

"Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Has..._he_ been here?" Ron demanded.

"Oh, _honestly_," Hermione said, elbowing him lightly in the stomach. "I thought we _talked_ about this, Ron. Ginny's allowed to date whoever she wants to." Aside, she informed Ginny, "He's been taking this a bit hard."

"I can tell," Ginny whispered back.

"Ginny?" Harry called from the kitchen, "Are Ron and Hermione here?"

"Harry, mate," Ron yelled, immediately bounding toward the kitchen. "Has _he_ been here? You have to keep him out of the house, Harry! Keep him _away _from her!"

"Oh, Lord," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes. "I can't believe him sometimes."

"He _is_ a bit protective," Hermione said delicately.

"To the point where it's _creepy_," Ginny scowled. "Good _God._ I went out with Malfoy on Friday night. He came over to watch a movie today. It's not exactly a fiery and passionate love affair."

"He has a tendency to overreact," Hermione said. "Goodness, when I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor in fourth year, he went absolutely barking mad."

"That's because he was jealous and it's somewhat endearing," Ginny said. "In this case, he's just an idiot."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose so." She lowered her voice a bit. "So...what _is_ happening between you and Draco?"

"Not much," Ginny said. "It really isn't as exciting as you all seem to expect it to be." A recollection from earlier that day came back to her. "Though he did - and this will make Ron's millennium - _tickle_ me today."

"Tickle you?" Hermione repeated, disbelieving laughter escaping her lips. "Draco Malfoy? _Tickling_?"

Ginny nodded. "And then we watched My Fair Lady."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, and she immediately shoved her hand in front of it to stifle her laughter. "I don't suppose he enjoyed that."

"I think he _did_," Ginny said, giggling a little as well. "He _smiled_ when Eliza came back at the end."

Hermione blinked. "You're not serious."

"I swear," Ginny said solemnly.

Hermione shook her head. "Ginny, you're certainly going to have some interesting effects on him."

*

"Here's the guest list that I have so far," Hermione said, handing the piece of paper to Ron. They'd just finished dinner, and had gathered around the living room for wedding preparations. Harry's two best friends sat on the sofa, Ron's arm slung casually over Hermione's shoulders, while Ginny had opted for the floor. She was currently driving Crookshanks mad with a piece of red ribbon which the cat seemed almost unhealthily insistent upon brutally murdering. 

Harry himself had claimed the beat-up arm chair, and he was watching Ron and Hermione in amusement. An argument was brewing - he'd come to sense them over the years.

"I'm still surprised that Minerva said we could have the wedding at Hogwarts," Hermione said. "Not that I'm not excited about it, of course - it will be a bit strange to have all of the students there, though."

"Well, they all know about you guys already, don't they?" Harry asked. "I mean, it's a little hard to hide relationships for long at school, isn't it? If two teachers were madly in love, everyone'd know."

Ron and Hermione locked gazes and simultaneously burst into laughter. Harry and Ginny exchanged bewildered glances.

"Care to elaborate?" Ginny asked.

"Well...." Ron said, laughing, "It's...just...it's...oh, it's too foul...Snape..."

"Don't tell me this," Harry said immediately. "Tell me _nothing_ that involves secret romances and Snape."

Hermione had apparently regained composure, and she asked, "Do you remember on that day when Snape was under the Commodus Dominatio, and he was going to kill Sinistra but faltered?"

Harry nodded.

"Well," Hermione said, smiling a bit, "When Dumbledore performed the counter curse - you were still asleep, in the Hospital Wing - Sinistra burst in, absolutely in hysterics, and..."

"-And laid this big old kiss on Snape," Ron cut in, still laughing. "It was bloody _disturbing_! And she goes, 'Sev, I love you, you idiot'." He burst into hysterics again, apparently not able to relay the whole tale with a straight face. "Sev! _Sev!_ It was _brilliant_."

"And it turns out that they were together for _years_," Hermione continued. "Long before we even came to Hogwarts."

Harry blinked. 

Well, that was some fascinating information that he _really_ hadn't needed to know.

"What's this?" Ron asked incredulously, pointing to something written on the list Hermione had compiled.

She leaned over to see what he was pointing at.

"Severus Snape," she read out loud.

Harry laughed, but at once turned it into a cough; he didn't want to be caught by the wrath of Hermione.

"Hermione," Ron said, sounding alarmed, "Severus Snape is _not_ coming to our wedding."

"Of course he is, Ron!" Hermione argued. "It would be impolite not to invite him! The wedding is _at_ Hogwarts, where he happens to work! He'll _be there_!"

"But...it's our _wedding_, Hermione!" Ron cried. "He'll probably slip bloody _poison_ into the champagne!"

"He will _not,_" Hermione said irritably. "Hush up. He's coming, and that's that."

"_Why_ do I put up with you?" Ron asked, kissing her hair.

"I should be asking you the same question," Hermione retorted, resting her head against his shoulder.

And suddenly, Harry felt strange simply _being_ there. Ron and Hermione had always been _his_ best friends throughout school, but he found himself realizing that they weren't anymore. They had been the Unstoppable Trio, best friends forever....

And now they were Ron and Hermione, soon-to-be newlyweds.

Oh, yes, and Harry. Harry, who they visited sometimes on holidays. Harry, that boy with the glasses and the scar. Oh, yes, he sounded vaguely familiar. Hadn't they used to know him? Weren't they sitting on his couch right now? Oh, _yes,_ that's right, Harry that used to be their best friend. Harry who-

"Are you all right?"

Harry looked down to see Ginny studying him, her voice a soft whisper. Ron and Hermione apparently hadn't noticed, and continued alternately exchanging insults and kisses.

"Fine," Harry muttered back.

"Okay," she said, sounding unconvinced. "You just look a bit...perturbed."

He shrugged.

Ginny eyed him, concerned, for a moment more before saying loudly, "For the love of God, knock it off, you two. It's downright nauseating."

Harry flashed her a bit of a grateful smile, and she winked at him. 

Ron and Hermione ceased obediently, immediately reviving their Snape 'to invite or not to invite' row. 

_And they're off,_ Harry thought glumly.

Again.

"Aurrrrgh," Ginny groaned, rather loudly. "I don't want to clean the kitchen." She widened her eyes slightly at Harry.

"Er....I'll do it?" he suggested. Ginny beamed, so he supposed that he'd answered correctly.

"Thanks, Harry," she said with a grateful smile. Then, very tersely, she ordered, "Ron, go help."

"Why?" Ron groaned. "Ginny, can't you see we're trying to _do_ something? I-"

He fell silent at once, however, when Ginny flashed him a death glare that was no doubt inherited from Mrs. Weasley. 

"Come on, Harry," Ron yelped, rising from the couch at once and grabbing Harry's arm, practically dragging him into the kitchen.

"I swear," Ron complained as the door swung shut behind them, "She's got a glare on her that's as bad as Mum's. It's _scary._" He scowled. "Wish I could have gotten that. Instead, I'm stuck with Dad's rubbish ears."

Harry laughed weakly and went to fill up the sink while Ron gathered the dishes from the table.

"So," Harry said, struggling to sound casual. "Married. In less than two weeks."

Ron nodded. "Weird, isn't it?"

"You could definitely say that."

"I know. But I....she..." Ron paused. "Harry, d'you remember the first time we saw her?"

Harry groaned. "_Please_ don't tell me that you knew then and there that you would marry her someday."

Ron snorted. "Don't be thick, Harry. I thought she was bloody insane."

"Good," Harry said.

"Do you have a problem with it?" Ron asked, a bit weakly. "Hermione and me getting married, I mean?"

Harry shrugged. "I've seen it coming since fourth year, more or less."

"That's not what I asked."

Harry filled the sink with plates and began to scrub them absently. "No. It's just..." He faltered. "No, it's nothing."

"Oh, that's real convincing, Harry," Ron said. "You've got me _completely_ fooled, mate."

He couldn't tell him. He couldn't talk to him - it was simple as that. The last thing that Harry wanted was to come off as some overly emotional, weepy, woe-is-me, jealous..._girlfriend_ or something.

It wasn't a big deal. All friendships had to end eventually, and he would just have to grin and bear it.

He attempted to force a smile (_Grin and bear it, Harry. Grin and bear it._), which caused Ron to study him strangely. 

"What?" snapped Harry.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm _smiling_," Harry informed him through gritted teeth.

"Oh," Ron said, shrugging. "I thought you'd been hit by a sudden bout of food poisoning or something."

"Funny," Harry deadpanned, resisting the urge to hurl the soapy dishrag into Ron's face. He clearly wasn't trying to make this easy.

"Listen, Harry," Ron said, rather seriously. "I can understand if this is weird. Hell, if you and Hermione were getting married-"

"-You'd beat me to a bloody pulp after gouging my eyes out," Harry finished.

Ron blinked. "Right."

"You _did_ snap off Viktor Krum's arm," Harry reminded him.

"He bloody deserved it," Ron growled. "Why the hell would he-"

"Okay, okay," Harry cut in quickly. The last thing he wanted was _another_ rant from Ron about Krum. One would think that the anger would have bubbled down after eight years, but no, no, no: it was still thriving quite strongly.

"Sorry," Ron said, a bit sheepishly. "But...well....Harry, you know that you'll always be my best friend, don't you?"

Harry stared at him blankly, wondering whether he should answer truthfully with '_No, not exactly._'

Instead, he intelligently replied, "....Er."

Yes, indeed, he was an articulate one.

"You do realize, don't you, Harry, that without you around to save me Hermione would have driven me absolutely barking mad ages ago?"

"Then why are you marrying her?" Harry asked, smirking. "Secret desire to be shipped off to St. Mungo's?"

Ron pulled a face at him. "Quit being a prat. I think it's pretty selfless of me to go ahead and marry her when I know that my sanity's at stake."

"Nah," Harry said, shrugging. "You're just an idiot."  
Ron glared at him, but Harry couldn't help but feel inexplicably relieved. Sure, it hadn't exactly been a heart-to-heart talk, but it was close enough. He knew that Ron wasn't spilling out clichéd sentiments insincerely - if that had been the case, Harry had no doubt that his best friend would have phrased everything exactly as he shouldn't have and ended up making Harry furious.  
"Are you cleaning, boys?"

Ginny's familiar voice filled the air, and Harry turned to see she and Hermione standing in the doorway. The look that she gave him seemed to question whether he'd had enough time with Ron, and he gave her a small nod in reply.

"We're bloody slaving away in here," Ron replied bitterly. "Aren't the women supposed to take care of dishes? What are you two sitting around for?"

"_Excuse_ me!" Hermione exclaimed, immediately affronted. Her brown eyes began to flash - never, _never_ a good sign. "_Honestly,_ Ron, how can you be so utterly chauvinistic? You're _so_ insufferable sometimes, I don't know why I-"

"Oh, come off it," Ron snapped back. "It was a bloody _joke_, for crying out loud. Why can't you just _laugh_? Contrary to popular belief, my sole purpose in life isn't to cause you as much anguish as humanely possible..."

_And they're off,_ Harry thought dryly, exchanging a glance with Ginny. She rolled her eyes and muttered as she walked toward him, "I really don't know how they do it. People shouldn't be able to get into screaming fights that easily."

"I figure it's a gift," Harry replied, glancing at the not-so-happy couple. Ron's ears were going red.

"I swear, I'm going to throw something at him if he doesn't shut up," Ginny said rather viciously, eyeing the dishrag in Harry's hand.

"Go on," he responded, handing her the sopping wet wash cloth. "Aim for the head."

Ginny grinned wickedly. "All right, but then you have to shut Hermione up." 

"How?"

"Be creative," Ginny said, her warm brown eyes sparkling rather devilishly. 

Harry shrugged. 'If you say so."

And with that, he crossed the kitchen and promptly slid his arm around Hermione's waist, dipping her with all the Mr. Suave charm that he possessed. She screeched, and Harry pressed his mouth to hers an instant before a dishrag soared through the air and hit an unsuspecting Ron right in the forehead. 

After all, if he was going to shut up Hermione, he may as well do it with flourish. (And make Ron furious in the process.)

"What the bloody _hell _do you think you're doing?" Ron roared at once, wiping the soapy water from his face.

Harry pulled away from a _very_ bewildered Hermione, helped her up, and grinned at Ron.

"Well, you know," he said innocently, "I figured that since you and Hermione argue constantly, marriage may not be the best idea. Hermione and _I_, on the other hand, never argue. So maybe I could take over your duties as groom-"

"Sod off," Ron ordered crossly. "Do you think you're being clever?"

Harry nodded earnestly. "Well, I thought it was quite ingenious, actually."

Ron rolled his eyes. "We can go without fighting."

Ginny smirked. "Sure."

"We _can_!" Ron protested. "Can't we, Hermione?"

"Of course we can!" Hermione said, absently wiping at her mouth with her sleeve. 

Harry and Ginny gave the pair matching skeptical glances.

"We can agree on things just fine!" Ron said defensively. "I bet you that we can go through this whole holiday without quarreling once!"

At this, Harry had to allow himself an amused smile, while Ginny flat-out burst into laughter.

"I'd like to see you try," she said, giggling.

"Fine," Ron replied stubbornly. "We will."

"Shake on it," Ginny ordered, holding out her hand and struggling to keep a straight face.

"Sure." Ron took her hand and shook it firmly.

Harry and Hermione exchanged incredulous glances.

One thing was for sure, this was going to be an interesting holiday: he only hoped that Susan would stay out of it.

Things would almost certainly be disastrous enough without her.

****

Author's Note II: Okay. I don't know what the _heck_ that was. I was getting so frustrated with this chapter that I just _needed_ to end it before I went positively mad. So, er, the story went mad instead. 

Lord, this is painful to even think about.

Yes, I would have deleted that last moment of insanity (what with the kiss, which is definitely the most H/H-esque thing I've ever written, minus a parody called There Forbiddin Luv: Harry & Hermoine that I'm doing with my fellow Potterettes), but Norah said that it was hilarious and it made her night.

So it stayed.

Please don't kill me.


	10. Desperately Needed Nonchalance

****

Author's Note: Well, this chapter was written rather quickly, wasn't it? I felt a bit guilty after the severe lack of updates last time. Also, two of the characters who appear in here have been borrowed from friends of mine: Cassandra Harvey belongs to Bohemian Storm (she's featured in the _amazing_ Ends of the Earth, which you all must read), and Nikki Mason belongs to PepsiAngel (It's a Hairdresser's Life is the funniest fic. Ever.)

As always, thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. You know I adore you, dahlings.

Chapter Ten: Desperately Needed Nonchalance

After one day had passed, it was pretty clear that Ron and Hermione's no-arguing pact was going to fail miserably.

After two days had passed, everything the couple said to each other was spoken in an unhealthily strained tone and accompanied by a dangerously forced smile.

After _three_ days had passed, they simply stopped being in the same room at the same time, as it was apparently just too painful to attempt to handle.

By the time December 24th rolled around, the two were incredibly snappish at whoever they could be...besides each other.

Which meant, quite simply, that Harry and Ginny were suffering an excess amount of verbal abuse.

"Harry, do you _have_ to tap your foot like that?" Hermione snapped viciously as she studied herself in the looking glass, attempting to style her hair. "It's incredibly annoying."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, quite bitterly, as he ceased his incredibly annoying foot-tapping. He attempted to smooth his own hair, but without much luck. Why was it that whenever he had to attend a semi-formal occasion, his hair always decided to take on a life of its own?

Oh well. No doubt Mrs. Weasley would fuss over it anyway. The four were on their way to the Ministry's Christmas party, which was being held at the Weasleys' house that year on account of Mr. Weasley's recent promotion to Minister of Magic. Harry had enjoyed the annual party during years past, but somehow he got the vibe that this year the holiday spirit wouldn't be quite..._there_.

"_Ginny_!" Ron's voice thundered furiously from down the hall. "Are you trying to bloody _kill_ me?!"

Harry watched as Hermione rolled her eyes and scowled. 

Nope. Not exactly Christmas-ly behavior.

At all.

"Well, I'm _sorry_, Ron!" Ginny cried back indignantly. "I'll never purely accidentally step on your foot again! How dare I do such a thing? God damn me to hell!"

"It's those..._shoes_!" Ron was proclaiming angrily as their voices grew louder; Harry supposed they were entering the living room. "Who the hell wears torture devices on their feet?"

"They're _heels_, you idiot."

"They're bloody _insane_-"

"Shut _up_!" Harry cut in irritably. He had heard nothing but fighting for the past week, and it was _really_ beginning to grate on his nerves. 

He spun around to face Ron and Ginny - and perhaps yell a bit more, as it felt quite good - when his voice died in his throat.

Ginny.

Harry blinked and focused his gaze on her again, just to make sure that he hadn't been seeing some strange sort of ethereal hallucination.

Nope. That was definitely Ginny.

And yet...

There simply weren't words to describe her, or perhaps not any words that Harry could think of at the moment. Her red hair fell in loose, lazy waves to bare shoulders; she was clad in a long black dress that shimmered as though encrusted with a million tiny diamonds. Her pale skin was flawless, almost luminous - her brown eyes seemed even brighter than usual, and her lips were painted a rich crimson. 

And then all the words flew back to him.

Stunning. Gorgeous. Ethereal. Surreal. Exquisite. Radiant. Dazzling. Enticing. 

Beautiful.

"You look....nice," he choked weakly. 

_Oh, yes. Great word choice there, Potter. You have all those wonderful adjectives and then you settle with...._nice._ Very smooth._

Ginny, however, seemed flattered nonetheless. Her gaze flew shyly to the floor for a moment before she looked up again and gave him a tiny smile. "Thanks. So do you."

He grinned weakly. "Not really. My hair's gone insane."

"It's cute," she protested, laughing a little.

Ron groaned. "Oh, _bloody hell_. Can we go already? You two are..."

He fell silent, however, when Hermione flashed him a death glare that Harry would never in a million years want to be directed at him. 

"Let's go, Ron," she said, apparently exasperated as she marched over and took his arm in her own, dragging her fiancee toward the fireplace. He was still glaring in annoyance at Harry and Ginny as Hermione shoved a handful of Floo Powder at him.

"The Burrow," he grumbled, stepping into the emerald flames. 

Hermione followed suit, leaving Harry and Ginny standing alone in the living room.

"They're going to lose it at each other," Harry predicted. "There's no way that they can keep this up much longer."

"Let's just hope it's not tonight," Ginny replied. "Mum will kill them if they make a scene at the party."

Harry cringed. 

Judging by the way that his best friends had been acting, they had quite the slim chance of making it out of that evening alive.

*

"Ron! Ginny! Hermione! Harry, dear!" 

Harry found himself being pulled into a hug by Mrs. Weasley the second he stepped from the fireplace. She smiled warmly at him and studied him for a moment after pulling away, then, as expected, began to smooth his hair. 

After this was done, she turned to Ron and Ginny and greeted them both warmly, then gave Hermione a quick hug as well. 

Harry surveyed the room - it was already filled with people, even though they'd arrived five minutes early. He spotted many familiar Ministry members, as well as Weasley family members who were easily spotted due to their flaming red hair. 

"Your brothers are all here already," Mrs. Weasley informed Ron and Ginny. "Bill brought a new girlfriend with him...a French girl, very pretty. I believe she was in the Triwizard Tournament with you, Harry dear." 

Ron's ears immediately went crimson, and Hermione fixed him with a very pointed Look.

"Fleur Delacour?" Ron croaked.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Weasley said with a nod, apparently oblivious. "That's her name. She seems a bit...confident, doesn't she?"

"Just a bit," Hermione agreed, smirking. Ron looked most agonized. "But I suppose that doesn't really matter, does it, Ron?"

"Shut _up_, Hermione," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Weasley studied the not-so-happy couple in confusion. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione with her most charming smile. Ron scowled.

"So you're still getting married?" Mrs. Weasley asked, glancing rather nervously back and forth at her son and future daughter-in-law.

"Yeah," Ron said darkly.

"Good, good," Mrs. Weasley said, looking vastly relieved. "It's just...we all know how you two can...get sometimes."

"What?" Ron snapped irritably.

Sensing an oncoming argument that he didn't particularly want to witness, Harry left his best friends and Mrs. Weasley behind and began to walk slowly around the Weasley house. He spotted Remus Lupin in the corner, his arm wrapped around his fiancee Cassandra Harvey's waist as he conversed with Mr. Weasley. 

Harry waved before continuing to study the inhabitants of the Weasley household. Everyone looked vaguely familiar until his gaze landed upon a curvy blonde with a wad of gum in her mouth and a _very_ bored expression on her face.

Wondering if she was perhaps a new addition to the Ministry - though she didn't look anything like the other workers - he walked over and greeted her, a bit awkwardly. "Hullo."

She looked up at him with rather expressionless eyes. "Hi."

Friendly.

"I'm Harry Potter," he offered hopefully.

"Nicole Mason," she replied tonelessly.

Well, this was a smashing success of a conversation.

"D'you work at the Ministry?" Harry asked, trying again.

She shook her head. "I'm here with my boyfriend. You see, I'm a...what do you call them?"

"Muggle?" Harry supplied.

She nodded. "Yeah, that. He's a...wizard." She smirked. "Or so he claims."

Harry blinked. "You don't believe in magic?"

Well, this was odd.

"Oh, no, I can't exactly argue with that-" she nodded toward the red-and-gold fairies that flew around the house, very much enjoying their roles as decorations, "-but, well...he's a bit...shall I say..."

"Could it be...Harry _Potter_?"

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Harry looked up, dread surging through him, and was nearly blinded by sparkling white teeth.

Oh yes. It was (unfortunately) the one, the only, the magical, the utterly unbearable...

Gilderoy Lockhart.

Beaming widely, Mr. Magical Me turned to the blonde woman and said, "Darling, do come and socialize with me. It's tedious work, but it has to be done!" He chortled winningly. "And besides, I think everyone knows who the life of the party is!"

"_He's_ your boyfriend?" Harry asked incredulously.

Who was this woman, exactly? She had seemed semi-normal, but it was now quite clear that she was absolutely _mental_. Perhaps the pair had met at St. Mungo's.

"Don't ask," she replied, wrinkling her nose. "Love works in strange, mysterious, and utterly sick ways."

Harry nodded weakly.

"Come along now, Nikki!" Lockhart said, an eerily perfect smile still fixed on his eerily perfect face. "If I'm not mistaken, Severus Snape just walked in with that Sinistra woman! I know, I know, he's usually a rather unpleasant fellow, but I'm sure that a conversation with me will bring a smile to his face!"

Nikki snorted, and Lockhart studied her in confusion for a moment before she rose and followed him over toward Snape and Sinistra.

Well, well, well. 

Harry couldn't help but wonder if Fred and George Weasley had been in charge of the invitations, as only they could find such horrendous guests even the slightest bit amusing. The unpleasant situation, however, was improved a bit by the expression of sheer revolt on Snape's face as Lockhart made his way over, smiling broadly.

"Well, isn't this interesting?"

Harry turned to see Ginny standing behind him, smirking in Lockhart's direction.

"Very," Harry replied, grinning. He tried to ignore the fact that she really looked gorgeous to the point where his heart raced a bit when he saw her, and instead focused on forming a coherent sentence. "Who, exactly, was responsible for the invitations?"

"Mum," Ginny replied. "But I think Fred and George threw a few extras in without her knowing."

"Somehow I suspected that."

Ginny laughed lightly; she had a very pretty laugh. It reminded him of silk and music and rose petals, softly beautiful.

. . . And it also sent his mind into a frenzy of nauseating poetic thoughts.

Which simply had to stop.

It was hazardous to his own brain.

"Harry?" 

He shook his head dumbly, pulling himself from his reverie.

Ginny was staring at him curiously, and he felt his cheeks flush.

Great. He was blushing.

_Go ahead. Just call me Harry Potter, ladies man._

"Sorry, sorry," he said sheepishly. "I was just thinking, and...you look really beautiful."

_Where_ had that come from?

It apparently hadn't been a bad thing to say, however - a light blush rose over Ginny's face, and she smiled at him. "Thanks. Again."

He shrugged, struggling to attain desperately-needed nonchalance. "You...yeah."

"Me...yeah?" she repeated, giving him an amused smile that made him feel incredibly stupid.

"Sorry," he said weakly. "I'm not too coherent tonight."

"It's all right," Ginny said, still smiling, but more kindly now.

Harry wondered vaguely why it suddenly felt so strange to be around her. It wasn't a bad sort of strange, just something completely different. And yet...it was unsettling, really, how utterly stupid this made him feel. He felt as though something pitifully obvious had been hovering around in his mind for ages, taunting him mercilessly, and he was just now realizing it.

Well, this was humiliating.

But on the other hand, if he ignored his severely wounded pride, it was nice, knowing. What he _knew_ now had yet to process in his mind, but it was _something_, and the sense of awareness was...comforting. Reassuring.

Nice.

It was pathetic, really, that the entirety of what he was feeling could be summed up into a basic four letter word that was right up there with 'mummy' and 'daddy' on the complexity scale. And yet it was true; there was nothing flamboyant about this, nothing flashy or spectacular.

It was warm, and subtle, and comfortable, and..._right_.

And it, he realized with a start, was Ginny.

He, Harry Potter, was absolutely head-over-heels for Ginny Weasley. He fancied her, to put it quite plainly. And yet that seemed too insignificant for what he was feeling now. Perhaps, it was more than just _fancying_ her. Perhaps...

Perhaps he lov-  
"_Ron_!"

Harry jumped, startled, and his gaze (along with everyone else's in the room) flew over to where Ron and Hermione were standing.

"You!" Hermione shrieked. (Harry cringed.) "_You_ have been driving me absolutely insane for the past week! _Insane_! What with your...your _stupid_ comments and your constant swearing and the fact that you are the most _annoying_ person I've ever met! I don't know _how_ I went so long without arguing with you, but I will never,_ ever_ do it again, for fear of losing my own sanity!"

Silence.

Hermione looked up then, her face flushed with anger as her brown eyes sparkled dangerously; her cheeks grew even redder as she realized how many people had witnessed her little outburst.

Someone coughed. Harry thought he heard Snape snicker, only to be shushed by Sinistra. 

"_What_ are you looking at?" Hermione demanded irritably of the audience she'd collected. 

Harry saw at once that she'd set herself up, but fury seemed to have clouded her judgment.

"What the bloody hell do you _think_ they're looking at?!" Ron exploded; his ears had gone entirely red. A bad sign. A _very_ bad sign. "For someone who's apparently so damn smart, you haven't got very good observation skills!"

"_You_ are the most incorrigible-"

"There you go, throwing thirteen syllable words into everyday conversation-"

"Infuriating-"

"Oh, yes, Hermione, it's _all_ my fault-"

"Obnoxious-"

"Because of course _nothing_ is the glowing, perfect Saint Hermione's fault-"

"Insufferable-"

"And so I suppose if we go through with this bloody ridiculous marriage, _everything_ will be my fault-"

"_Agonizing-_"

"And I'm not sure if I _like_ that idea, Hermione!"

"Well, then I think we both know what the solution is, don't we?" Hermione shouted.

Harry cringed. Ginny cringed. Mrs. Weasley cringed. The fifty-or-so other assorted guests cringed. (Except Snape, who smirked and was rewarded by Sinistra's elbow jabbing into his stomach rather violently.)

"Yes," Ron said; his voice was quiet now. "I suppose we do."

And with that, he turned and disappeared from the room. A nervous chatter immediately filled the air, and Hermione stood, frozen, and blinked a few times.

"I'll handle Ron," Ginny murmured to him. "You talk to Hermione."

"Okay," Harry agreed weakly. Really, he wasn't sure which of them had it worse - both Ron and Hermione were quite hazardous to deal with after a row. But Harry supposed that if worst came to worst, it would hurt less to be punched by Hermione than Ron.

Then again, Hermione probably had a much more extensive knowledge of torture spells.

But Ginny had already left the room in pursuit of Ron, so Harry reluctantly made his way over to Hermione, who was still staring blankly at the door where Ron had left.

"Come on," he said, very tentatively wrapping an arm around her waist. To his surprise, she didn't lash out at him with the unadulterated fury of a thousand premenstrual Medusas. Instead, she didn't resist as he led her up the stairs. They stopped in the tiny sliver of a hall, and silence surrounded them.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked.

She was blinking rapidly.

"I hate him sometimes," she muttered, impatiently wiping her eyes.

Harry blinked. It was obvious that for the time being, it was up to he and Ginny to save his best friends' engagement.

. . . 

No pressure or anything.

"Hermione, it can't just...end."

"Why?" she snapped.

"It just..." Er, "...can't."

Well, that was brilliant reasoning. No doubt she'd go running back into Ron's arms after hearing _that_ life-changing statement.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," she scolded irritably. "There's no way we could get married."

"Why not?" he asked intelligently.

"Well...I...just..." she sputtered incredulously. "Harry, _look_ at us! We'd be constantly fighting! We'd be divorced in a month!"

"You don't _know_ that," Harry protested. "And you guys have had tons of huge arguments before, and yet you're still best friends." He paused. "Or...whatever you are."

"What if we're nothing?" Hermione mumbled, gaze falling to the floor.

All right. This was getting to be too much.

"Hermione, of course you're _something_!" he said impatiently. "You two have the most passionate relationship of anyone I know!"

Hermione looked up and raised an eyebrow at him quizzically.

Ouch. Word choice.

"Not...passionate like..." He felt himself blushing. Oh, his articulacy was downright stunning tonight. "Like..._that._ Just..."

She was looking at him; her expression was almost hopeful. He could tell that she was desperate for a reason as to why she and Ron were meant to be. Which, he had thought for quite sometime, was too obvious to even deserve a _reason_, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"You both feel so much for each other," he said weakly. "And for...I don't know, for everything."

"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"Oh, you know," Harry said. "Like Spew in fourth year, and-"

"S.P.E.W," Hermione corrected at once. "_Honestly_, will you _ever_ stop that-"

"Fine, S.P.E.W.," Harry said impatiently. "The point is, you two always..._feel_ things completely. You're never mildly interested in something, or vaguely angry, or anything like that." He paused. "And...I don't know. You two have always felt completely for each other."

Hermione seemed to be seriously considering his words, and for good measure he added in conclusion, "And I think you'd both, you know, feel completely miserable if you weren't together."

She smiled weakly at him. "We would be, wouldn't we?"

Harry nodded, feeling relieved. It seemed as though he'd calmed Hermione down successfully. He only hoped that Ginny was having as much luck with Ron.

"...But do _I_ have to apologize?" Hermione asked after a moment of silence. "He _did_ start the argument; _he_ should be mature enough to know that he owes me an apology-"

"Hermione!" Harry cut in, frustrated. "You are going to go out there, and..."

* * * 

"You are going to _apologize_!" Ginny said firmly, glaring at Ron. "_Now_."

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, rising from the bench where they'd made themselves semi-comfortable in the front yard. "But you realize that you're completely destroying any bit of pride that I have-"

"Oh, shut up," Ginny ordered, smiling at him. "You'd better get in there before Hermione sees Lockhart and forgets about you completely."

"Funny," Ron said dryly, but Ginny didn't fail to notice how his pace quickened a little as he made his way inside the house.

Sighing to herself, she stared up at the velvety black sky and watched with a childish wonder as snowflakes fell from it. It had been, all in all, a suitable evening so far. Ron and Hermione's engagement seemed as though it could be repaired ( it was obvious that the two couldn't live without each other...fifty percent of the time, they couldn't live _with_ each other either, but that was just tough luck). 

And Harry...

She smiled a bit. His behavior that night had been...different. He seemed almost interested in her, something that she'd practically decided would never happen. But for once, he had been the one to lose all articulacy whatsoever in her presence. She wondered vaguely how he would behave around butter dishes.

Perhaps something could change. Perhaps, after all these years, it would. It was almost scary to think about; she'd grown so completely accustomed to unrequited love that the possibility of his liking her in return was incredibly foreign. 

It seemed so utterly magical - a fairytale of sorts. For years and years, the young maid watched the prince, loving him from afar, and then one day he realized that he loved her as well...

And they lived happily ever after.

Surreal. Perfect.

And yet...too simple.

For the first time, there were no complications, nothing attempting to stop this.

Except...

Draco.

Yes.

Draco.

How was it that she'd entirely forgotten about him tonight? She felt guilty at once for doing so: after all, it seemed as though he was interested in her, something that she was quite unaccustomed to, and now she was simply ignoring him for Harry.

But really, she couldn't let herself overreact. Draco Malfoy was not at all the type to fall head-over-heels in love with anyone after two dates - hell, he wasn't the type to fall head-over-heels in love in general. And if the rare occurrence should happen in which he _did_, it wouldn't be with someone like her. It would be with someone like that Cryssa woman, who was flawlessly beautiful and rich and cold and sarcastic and quite possibly evil.

Draco didn't need her, she was certain of that. He wouldn't mind if something were to happen between her and Harry; he'd make fun of her for it, of course, and throw a few sneers and biting comments her way, but that was it. 

She sighed again, closing her eyes and allowing tiny snowflakes to cover her face and hair. The warm, sparkling feeling that always came along with Christmas had hit her full-force that evening, and she delighted in it. 

"Ginny?"

It was Harry.

She opened her eyes to find him mere inches away from her, and she shrieked in surprise. He laughed, and she fixed him with a glare that was completely insincere.

"Don't scare me like that," she scolded lightly. "You'll give me a heart attack."

"Sorry," he apologized, sinking down onto the bench next to her. His hand brushed against hers, and a spark of electricity seemed to run through her fingers. 

"So," Ginny said, "Have the star-crossed lovers made up yet?"

Harry nodded. "Hermione did the 'Oh, Ron!'-and-then-burst-into-tears act."

Ginny grinned. "That one always seems to work."

"Tried 'n true since 1993," Harry added, smiling back.

A comfortable silence fell upon them as both watched the falling snow. She wondered vaguely what it would be like to dance with him, to kiss him, to hear him confess that he cared about her.

...And yet, she found that she didn't need any of that. Just sitting next to him in this warm silence was enough.

It was strange. She'd never truly felt anything considering Harry to be _enough_ before.

Suddenly it was, and there was a subtle beauty about it. Her heart felt at peace, cliché as it sounded. 

"Ginny."

His voice broke the silence, very softly.

"Yes?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "Ginny, I-"

"There you are!"

The pair turned simultaneously to see Sirius and Hadia standing in the threshold, smiling knowingly at them.

Ginny immediately felt her cheeks flush, and cringed. _Honestly, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's not as though they've caught you snogging senselessly._

"They're going to make a toast to Ron and Hermione in a minute," Sirius said. "You may want to come inside." His dark eyes were sparkling. "Unless, of course, you'd rather stay out here, in which case I'm sorry to interrupt."

"Sirius!" Hadia scolded gently, but her eyes were dancing mischievously as well. 

Quite the match made in heaven.

"No, it's all right," Harry said, glaring at Sirius. "We'll come inside."

"Okay then," Sirius grinned, then glanced upward. He whispered something to Hadia that Ginny couldn't hear, then pecked her on the lips quickly before glancing back at them. Ginny smiled weakly, and the pair waved back before disappearing into the house.

"I suppose we should go inside then," Harry said, standing up. Ginny nodded, and felt her cheeks flush for what seemed the millionth time that night when he offered his hand. She took it, then let go quite reluctantly once he'd helped her up.

They walked silently to the door, and remembering Sirius and Hadia's odd exchange earlier, Ginny looked up to see what they could have been whispering about.

Hanging very innocently at the top of the door frame was a twig of mistletoe.

Her heartbeat immediately doubled.

Perhaps Harry wouldn't notice. Perhaps they'd just walk right along through the door, and that would be that.

Unfortunately, Harry _did_ notice, and his gaze followed hers.

Her cheeks positively scarlet now, she alternated staring at him, the conveniently placed mistletoe, and the floor. The little rotation had stopped on him when he ran a hand through his hair nervously and said, "Well..."

"Well..." she repeated weakly, nervous laughter spilling from her lips.

He shrugged helplessly. "I suppose it _is_ tradition, right?"

She nodded, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy. But a nice sort of dizzy; the sort of dizzy one felt after having a glass of champagne. Not downright senselessly drunk, just...giddy.

He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

And slowly, he leaned down to kiss her.

  



	11. The Fifth Kiss

****

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you all for zee reviews! It took awhile to get this chapter up - I was _so_ determined to update every week, but alas, that plan didn't quite work. Bwahaha. Oh well. 

Enjoy. :-)

****

Chapter Eleven: The Fifth Kiss

Ginny Weasley had experienced approximately five kisses in her entire life.

It was sad, really, considering the fact that she was twenty-one years old, but what could you do?

The first, if it could even qualify as a kiss, had been a tentative peck on the cheek from Neville Longbottom after the Yule Ball in her third year. Needless to say, it hadn't evoked any sparks or hidden passions. On the contrary, she'd simply wanted to go up to the dormitory and perform a powerful numbing spell on her feet so she wouldn't have to be forced with such excruciating pain any longer.

The second had been with Draco Malfoy in her sixth year, which had been an utterly random and un-Ginny-esque experience. She remembered that she'd been furious with Harry at the time, since he'd asked Parvati Patil to that year's Holiday Ball without even a second glance at her. In a moment of what had seemed to be at the time rebellion, she'd decided to temporarily abandon her steadfast dedication to Harry and lend her attentions to another guy. This, she had realized in retrospect, had been utterly stupid of her, as there hadn't been the slightest trace of a romantic relationship between the two of them, and therefore her cheating on him with Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly cheating at all. But she'd been in a horrible mood that day - she'd quarreled with Ron, was feeling quite put out about the Harry situation, she'd failed her latest Potions project, _and_ she had detention with Draco Malfoy. And so in the middle of some idiotic banter, she'd simply flung herself at him in a moment of extreme madness. It hadn't been all that unpleasant, for a _real_ first kiss, but it simply hadn't contained that sparkle of indescribable magic that she'd hoped would come along with it.

And then there had been later that year, in the Chamber. She didn't like to think about it, didn't like to even consider it a kiss, really, because that wasn't what it had been. His lips had been so cold; his mouth seemed to drink in her soul, and she'd felt so weak and scared and insignificant. He had stolen pieces of her heart then; he had taken her innocence and her dreams and destroyed them with those long, thin fingers.

She didn't like to think about it.

And then there had been Draco again, in that attempt to make Harry insanely jealous. That had been, she supposed, all right, though she hadn't felt anything except an intoxicating rush: _she_ had been playing seductress, she was driving Harry Potter mad with jealousy. The kiss had been _for_ Harry, really. It just so happened that Draco had been the one used to pass the message along.

And finally there was the fifth kiss.

The Fifth Kiss.

It deserved capital letters, and fireworks, and thousands of pages of blissful words describing that perfect moment.

It hadn't been wildly passionate; definitely not something from those novels about scarlet women that her mum was so fond of. No, it had been sweet, and simple, and yet so indescribably wonderful. 

It had felt..._right_.

He'd placed his hands lightly, tentatively on her waist, and she'd draped her arms over his shoulders, and she felt like they were two pieces of a puzzle, finally fit together to complete the picture. And then their lips had met, and she could only remember a beautiful, blissful ecstasy, a joie de vivre like she'd never even imagined. And the strange thing was that it hadn't been about lips and tongues and tilting your head a certain way so that your noses wouldn't collide. That part, the physical part, had been nice of course; _very_ nice; but that hadn't been what had made it so perfect, exactly. It was more the way her heart had skipped, the way her soul seemed to be set alight with a fire that warmed pleasantly rather than burned with a passionate intensity. And the way that she knew _somehow_ - she couldn't even begin to explain, to imagine how she knew - that he felt exactly like she did, that he was sharing this perfect felicity with her.

It had been, in short, the best moment of her life.

The ten years she'd spent waiting around for him had been entirely worth it. She could die that very moment and be absolutely content.

...No, scratch that.

She wanted to kiss him again. And again. And again.

She wanted to marry him and honeymoon in Paris and have two children - a girl and a boy, Cecily and James - and live in a lovely house with a white picket fence and a garden filled with tulips and daisies. (And of course, they needed a puppy named something completely unimaginative like Rover or Spot or Patch; the puppy was a necessity, and she'd always preferred them to cats.)

But for now, she would settle for kissing him.

The rest of the party had gone by in a daze; she vaguely recalled smiling shyly at Harry and pretending like nothing had happened when they returned inside and laughing at Fred and George's ridiculous antics and agreeing to have Sirius and Hadia over for supper the next day and dancing with her father to a few Christmas carols. 

But these were all fuzzy, hazy pictures in her mind.

Kissing Harry, on the other hand, she could recall perfectly.

Ginny sighed dreamily as she stepped into her bedroom; they'd just floo'd back home, and Harry and Ron had disappeared into the kitchen for drinks while Hermione took Crookshanks outside to prowl around the front yard for a while. 

"Harry Potter kissed me," she sang to herself in a tune that vaguely resembled that of 'I Could Have Danced All Night' from My Fair Lady. She was aware that she was behaving like a lovesick school girl, but didn't mind in the least. After all, she had been waiting for this since she _was_ a lovesick school girl, so certainly there was nothing wrong with it.

"Harry Potter kissed me," she continued, a bit louder, as she slipped out of the dress she'd donned that evening. "Under the outside door."

It was painfully clear that she could never even dream of a career as a lyricist, but at the moment she was too giddy to care.

"And now it's clear to see my life is heavenly," she continued merrily, grabbing her nightdress and pulling it over her head before doing a few impromptu spins around the room. "All thanks to sweet L'amour!"

She sunk down into the chair in front of her vanity and inspected her face in the mirror for a moment. Brown eyes sparkled brilliantly back at her, and her cheeks were still flushed a delighted shade of rosy pink. 

Oh, she was smitten. Incredibly one hundred percent head-over-heels smitten.

Harry had kissed her, life was grand, and she was now mercilessly butchering My Fair Lady songs.

She dissolved into a fit of ecstatic giggles and hoped weakly that everyone remained downstairs so they didn't witness her attack of love-driven insanity. And yet, quite oddly, at the same time a part of her was _dying_ to run down the stairs and start serenading Harry with her freakish adaptations of show tunes.

Requited love was officially her favorite thing in the entire world. It had even beaten Sugar Quills, which was quite the accomplishment indeed.

She was about to burst into another whirlwind rendition of 'Harry Potter Kissed Me' when the door swung open and Hermione walked in carrying Crookshanks, a knowing smile on her face.

"Hi Hermione!" Ginny greeted her cheerfully, aware of how absolutely insane she sounded but not caring in the least.

"Someone's happy," Hermione returned, grinning, as she set Crookshanks onto the bed. 

"Oh, happy can't describe it!" 

"Overjoyed, then?" Hermione suggested. "Radiant? Exuberant? Rhapsodic? Elated? Jubilant? Rapturous?"

"I suppose I should have expected that from the woman who reads the thesaurus for fun," Ginny replied, attempting at sarcasm and failing a bit as she couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

Hermione simply smiled and asked, "So, Operation Strategically Planted Mistletoe succeeded, I gather?"

"Strategic?" Ginny repeated. "You planned it?"

Hermione nodded. "A bit loosely, anyhow. We had Sirius and Hadia hang it there - I hope it's all right-"

Hermione was cut off, however, when Ginny threw her arms around her in a hug.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" she exclaimed.

Hermione laughed. "Was the wait worth it?"

"Oooh, yes," Ginny said, sinking down onto the bed alongside Crookshanks and hugging a pillow to her chest. "It was just...absolute bliss."

Hermione nodded. "I know that feeling."

"And...oh, I'd imagined kissing him a thousand times - especially after I kissed Draco, and I thought of how it could have been better if it was with Harry, but...nothing I thought of even came _close_! It was just..." She sighed.

"I know what you mean," Hermione said. "After harboring that silly crush on Ron for practically a year while I waited for him to come around."

"When did you first kiss him?" Ginny asked, surprised to realize that she didn't know. Really, she couldn't even recall when Ron and Hermione had officially...gotten together. It had just _happened_ one day, but it had been obvious for so long before that it hadn't seemed very surprising at all.

"At the end of fifth year," Hermione replied. A small, fond sort of smile was playing around her lips. "We were in the middle of the most _terrible_ screaming fight, and I just found myself hating him because I liked him so much and he was so clueless and I thought he'd never like me because I wasn't beautiful like Fleur Delacour and Cho Chang and all those types of girls that he likes. And then...it was the oddest thing, something inside me just _snapped_, and I just kissed him, mid-insult." The smile had blossomed now. "It was lovely, really...he was entirely shocked. He pulled away from me after about two seconds and just stared at me in utter bewilderment and said, 'Hermione' in this completely strange voice. I was just terrified, I thought that he was going to absolutely hate me and never talk to me again - and instead he just leaned in and kissed me."

Ginny giggled. "It suits you two."

"It does, doesn't it?" Hermione agreed, still beaming. "And we're getting married in a week."

"Who'd have thought that Ron would be the first of us to be married?" Ginny mused, smiling. "Fred and Angelina are engaged, of course, but it looks like you two will beat them to it." She paused. "Funny, you know. We all always reckoned that Percy and Penelope would be the first to..."

Mid-sentence, that awful sense of _knowing_ came back to her. It hurt for a second, so badly that her entire body seemed to ache with an infinite sadness, but then it dulled. She missed him so badly. 

"Ginny, I'm sorry," Hermione said quietly. Crookshanks had crawled into Ginny's lap and begun to purr, as though he could sense her sadness.

"It's all right," Ginny responded softly. "He's in a better place now." She paused. "And with Mr. Crouch, no less."

Hermione smiled weakly.

"It's just...he's not entirely gone, and I know it. I can sense it. I still..._feel_ him in my heart, the way I feel all of the people that I care about. He's still there."

"I know," Hermione replied softly. "Ron says that, too."

"Really?"

Hermione nodded with a grim smile. "He gets sad about it, you know, but then he says that he knows that Percy's still with us, and that he's gone to a better place..." She paused, looking rather disapproving. "And that he hopes that Mr. Crouch has stopped calling him Weatherby."

Ginny smiled. "That's Ron."

Hermione nodded. "I know."

*

Come Christmas day, there was only one thing that Harry Potter usually found himself wanting:

Mrs. Weasley's cooking.

Ever since he'd set out to live alone four years before, he'd dreaded cooking for holidays with a passion that had previously been reserved for battling the Dark Lord and attempting to survive through Double Potions. 

And it had gotten worse.

Much worse.

Susan had become strangely infatuated with his becoming a chef, though he'd never shown any interest in cooking whatsoever (he _had_ been able to do it once, he vaguely remembered, back when he'd practically been the Dursleys' personal slave, but he had apparently blocked it out of his mind). She'd insisted for the past two years that he attempt to cook Christmas dinner; the first time, the oven had exploded and they were forced to eat canned green beans and old Pumpkin Pasties instead. 

The second time, he'd caught her expensive designer robes on fire.

Which, in retrospect, was quite amusing indeed.

But other than that, there had been no particular highlights in his tedious career as a (cough) chef.

Harry decided that even attempting to cook now was absolutely hazardous to everyone in the house's (or even perhaps everyone on the block's) health. He was, after all, a bit distracted.

To put it lightly.

_Ginny. . . so beautiful. . . kissed her. . . perfect. . . Ginny. . . kissed her. . . beautiful. . . perfect. . . love her . . . _

Yes, Harry's 'frighteningly smitten' level had reached the point where he couldn't even think coherently.

And Ron was getting a bit...shall we say?...annoyed.

"Dammit, Harry!" he yelped, jumping about eight feet in the air as his finger came into collision with one of the stove burners. "Stop making googly eyes like a bloody idiot and_ help_ me!"

"You're not s'posed to touch that," Harry said in a dazed voice.

"Yeah," Ron replied darkly, turning on the faucet and running his hand under the cold water. "Thanks for telling me, mate. I reckon I could have gotten hurt otherwise. Oh, wait. I _did_."

"Hmm?" Harry asked distractedly.

Ron let out a strangled yell of frustration. "Snap _out_ of it, Potter!" 

"Huh?"

Ron took a deep breath and said through clenched teeth, "Harry. You realize that Ginny and Hermione, both of whom possess about a million times the cooking ability than both of us put together, are not here."

Harry nodded faintly.

"And you _also_ realize that they bestowed upon us the treacherous task of cooking bloody Christmas dinner?"

Nod.

"Well, then, for the love of Quidditch, quit staring at the wall and drooling like some mindless git and _help me_! I've already practically lost a bloody finger!"

Harry blinked twice.

"Oh," he said weakly. "Oh, yes, right. Sorry."

"You should be," Ron muttered bitterly. "Kissing my sister and then practically causing your best friend to lose his finger in a tragic cooking accident."

"Ron," Harry said, rather meekly, "Would you kill me if I said that I was...er..."

Ron looked at him skeptically.

"...Um...er...you know...if I..._liked_ Ginny."

"No," Ron said patiently. "I would not kill you, Harry. I would be very happy for you."

Harry brightened visibly at this. "Really?"

"Really," Ron confirmed. "I will, however, slaughter you heartlessly if you don't bloody help me cook."

"All right," Harry said, grinning energetically. Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry decided not to dwell upon it.

"So," Harry continued, clapping his hands. (Ron was getting scared.) "What are we cooking?"

Ron surveyed the pot of boiling water on the stove that had nearly cost him a finger and announced, rather dryly, "Not much."

"Where did Hermione and Ginny go?" Harry asked distractedly.

"To do some last minute Christmas shopping before the stores close!" Ron cried, exasperated. "You were _here_ when they left!"

"Oh yeah," Harry said, smiling a bit again. "Ginny smiled at me." He paused thoughtfully. "D'you think she likes me, Ron?"

This was apparently too much for Ron.  
"Harry!" he shouted. "She's bloody liked you since she was _ten_! You're just too slow to _do_ anything about it! Well, now you have, and I'm really happy for you, mate, honest, I'm just pink about it, but _shut up and help me bloody cook_!!!"

Harry blinked. "What's wrong with you?"

Ron studied him for a moment in silence, brown eyes flashing. Harry noted vaguely that his ears had gone red.

Well, this couldn't be good.

"Sorry, sorry," he said quickly. "Yes. Right. Let's cook then, shall we?"

Ron replied with an annoyed sort of grunt.

"All right," Harry said, eyeing Ron rather fearfully as he began to flip through one of his many cookbooks, courtesy of Clingy and Annoying Girlfriends Inc. "Hmm..."

Then again, he would have to break up with Susan now. For good. Definitely, as he was rather head-over-heels for Ginny.

A sudden, alarming thought struck him.

"Ron!" he said at once. "I forgot to get Ginny a Christmas present!"

Ron took a very deep breath, and Harry suddenly found himself regretting that he'd brought it up.

"Harry," Ron said, very calmly. "You have ten seconds to remove yourself from my sight before I'm forced to kill you."

Harry obeyed.

*

"I can't believe you're getting Ron...a book," Ginny said, staring in faint disbelief at the newly gift-wrapped present that Hermione held in her gloved hand. 

"He doesn't read enough," Hermione replied rather bossily. "And once we're married, I'll see to it that he does."

Ginny couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her brother momentarily. Then again, she realized, Ron wasn't exactly a picnic for Hermione to endure, either.

"But are you sure that he'd want...._that_ book?" Ginny continued, raising an eyebrow in its direction. Though it was now covered in green and gold paper, the mental image of the cover was still all too fresh in her mind.

And somehow she didn't think that Ron would be exactly delighted to be presented with this...gift.

Then again, she could be wrong.

What did she know, anyway?

Perhaps most people would be downright ecstatic to receive 'Ten Easy Steps To Achieving True Inner Peace and Self-Satisfaction! (I've Done It, and So Can You!)', the new number one Flourish and Blotts bestseller by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart himself. (With, might she add, twelve pages of full color photos.)

...But she highly doubted it.

Very skeptical now, she looked hopelessly to Hermione for some sort of explanation.

"The silly git bought me a boxed set of Lockhart's complete published works last year," Hermione said, laughing a little. "Horrible waste of money, but he seemed to think that he was being quite clever."

Ginny giggled. "That's Ron for you."

Hermione nodded. "Don't I know it."

Ginny reached to open the front door of the flat, wondering absently whether her present for Harry was any good at all, when a cold, drawling voice from behind filled her ears.

"Lookin' good, Weasley."

Oh.

Well, this was going to be awkward.

Ginny felt a sense of dread fill her that she knew was rather foolish; honestly, she was going to have to face Draco sooner or later.

But she'd always hoped that it would, in fact, be later.

And not quite so...

Soon.

"What is that, your mantra?" she demanded wryly, attempting to remain nonchalant. Hermione widened her eyes pointedly at Ginny before silently disappearing into the house.

"It's got a ring to it," Draco replied casually. 

Sighing, Ginny set her bags onto the stoop and spun around, only to discover that the fun had only just begun. Standing next to Draco, with her unbearably superior smirk, was Cryssa.

Yay. There was nothing she liked quite more than breaking up with a haughty bastard while being watched by the heir of Slytherin.

Cryssa raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Ginny, nodding gracefully. "Virginia."

"Hi," Ginny returned tonelessly. "Draco...er...can I talk to you?"

"Aren't you doing that already?" he pointed out, cold eyes dancing playfully.

Aurgh.

"..._Alone_?" Ginny pressed, glancing pointedly at Cryssa.

The dark haired girl rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly before brushing past Ginny and into the house. Ginny hoped that she wouldn't give Ron, Hermione, and Harry too much torture, but thought it very unlikely that she'd be a charming and pleasant conversationalist.

"So," Draco said, "Having a holly, jolly Christmas, Weasley?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You could say that, Santa Claus."

He smirked and looked up at the lamp post that he'd leaned against - a mistletoe twig had been hung there earlier by Ron and Hermione. (Who had, Ginny'd noted, made use of the little custom it induced without complaints.)

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" he asked, gray eyes dancing a bit.

Oh God.

He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her.

No, no he didn't. Of course he didn't. She was simply overreacting. Hell, for all she knew he'd grown completely tired of her and found a new girlfriend. They'd seen one another approximately six times; that was probably a smothering, downright unbearable relationship for poor Draco Malfoy to handle. She was _tying him down_. It would be only right for her to break up with him and allow him to spread his wings and...

Oh, for the love of Merlin.

This was ridiculous.

"Aren't you going to come over here, Weasley?" he continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that she'd started thinking in pathetically melodramatic TV movie-esque sequences.

"Where's your chivalry, Malfoy? Shouldn't you come to the lady? " she returned, hoping that her tone sounded cool and vaguely coquettish rather than unnaturally perturbed.

A lazy grin made its way onto Draco's face. "But I'm Santa Claus."

Er.

Yes.

Right.

"Huh?" she asked blankly.

She wasn't exactly handling this as smoothly as she'd hoped she would.

"The kids sit on Santa Claus' lap..." Draco said, as though explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

"Um. Right."

She couldn't kiss him. She _couldn't_. She was madly in love with Harry, for God's sake! She wasn't going to just-

"What's wrong with you today, Weasley?" Draco demanded, lip curling into a sneer. "You're not delightfully intelligent in general, but today you've sunk to _Potter's_ intelligence level."

She found herself glaring at him without realizing it. A wave of understanding washed over his cold, sharp features.

"So," he said, his sneer becoming more pronounced, "Still smitten with Potter, are we?"

"Um...."

"I suppose those schoolgirl crushes are hard to break," Draco continued, walking a bit closer. Something seemed to surround him that she hadn't seen before, something unnerving; it was an anger, an anger that was fire and ice all at once, and it scared her.

"We...he and I..." she said weakly. "We're...last night...."

"You're so disgustingly naive," Draco said, laughing shortly. He began to circle her slowly, flashing steel eyes never leaving her own. She felt undeniably weak, frightened; he was the tiger, and she his prey, trembling in fear and horribly aware of her own helplessness. 

"Do you think he actually cares about you?" Draco continued, his voice a piercing whisper. "Do you think he _loves_ you, Weasley? He's never noticed you before. Why should he now?" He paused. "I think I know why." He came closer, closer, and yet she couldn't bring herself to move. He fixed his hands on her hips - her skin tingled at his chilled touch - and whispered viciously, "You're a beautiful girl, you know. Long legs, silky skin, perfect lips. He wants to fuck you senseless, Weasley. And he can. It's too easy. All he has to do is spew a few lines of flowery love poetry to you, and you're lost." He laughed; the cold, bitter sound danced in the iced winter air. "He doesn't want your heart, Virginia."

And suddenly he wasn't Draco, not anymore. He was Tom, and his words were weaving into her soul, coalescing with her thoughts, tempting her and hurting her and causing tears to spring to her eyes. She was powerless against him; he would always control her when he chose to. 

_'Virginia.'_

"Get away from me," she whispered; her voice was tired, and the words shook her. She felt so fragile, so exhausted and weak and faint. "Please."

He fixed her with one last glare, icy and full of a cold, pained loathing, before turning and disappearing wordlessly. Ginny watched him blankly - a million feelings seemed to swell through her at once, leaving her numb and emotionless. It barely registered in her mind when Cryssa brushed past her and after her ex-fiancee.

She shivered, wondering when it had become so cold.

"Ginny?"

She turned around to see Harry standing in the doorway, looking a bit worried.

"Hey," she replied, forcing a weak smile.

"Are you all right?" he asked, stepping out into the snow and standing next to her. 

She nodded. "Fine."

"What happened with Malfoy?" 

Ginny shrugged, laughing lightly. "Disgustingly dramatic breakup."

"Breakup?" Harry repeated.

Ginny nodded, turning to look up at him. His green eyes were dancing, so rich and warm against the cold that had momentarily enveloped her.

"Not that we were ever together, really," Ginny continued, rolling her eyes and struggling to achieve nonchalance. "He acted like a bastard about it, of course."

"That's Malfoy," Harry said with a crooked smile.

Ginny smiled. "Indeed."

Harry took notice of her shivering and asked, "Should we go back inside? It's cold out here."

Ginny nodded. "Sure."

They stared at one another for a moment, motionless, and Ginny felt a smile playing at the corners of her lips. And then, very gently, Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her inside.

*

_'Have yourself a merry little Christmas...'_

Ginny hummed absently to herself to the song that filled the living room. Hermione had taken the liberty of bringing with her an assortment of Christmas CDs that she'd had for quite sometime, and they were currently listening to Frank Sinatra's Greatest Holiday hits. The music lightened her mood considerably - the magical sparkle that only Christmas could bring about was starting to come over her again - and yet she couldn't shake the slight chill that Draco had brought on. 

She knew that he was wrong about Harry; she knew that Harry actually cared about her, and that he would never use her.

And yet something still unnerved her.

_'Virginia.'_

(She shivered.)

He had sounded so like Tom, and for a moment that glint in his eye - the coldest rage imaginable, fire trapped in ice - had been identical to the eyes that had lured her and destroyed her long ago. 

It was in times like these that she felt Tom never left her, that he had spoken truthfully when he'd told her that he'd wound himself into her soul. She could sense him all around her, even though she knew he was gone; she'd _seen_ him defeated.

_Virginia..._

The air seemed thicker, colder - she focused on her own reflection in her bathroom mirror. The eyeliner brush in her hand shook violently. 

Was that breathing that she heard, soft, yes, but unmistakably there?

No.

No.

Tom was gone.

Tom was gone, and Draco was gone, and she'd never have to face either of them again. 

So why could she sense another presence? Why did she feel it so strongly?

_It's just Harry,_ she told herself sternly. _Just Harry or Ron or-_

"Ginny? Are you in here?"

The kind female voice cut through the air like a knife, and Ginny dropped her eyeliner brush with a clatter into the sink. She looked unsteadily up into the mirror to see Hadia peeking through the doorway, an expression of polite concern etched into her features.

"A little jumpy?" she offered, smiling.

"Just a bit," Ginny replied, grinning back. Relief filled her, and she instantly felt foolish for behaving so melodramatically. 

Deciding that Hadia may want an explanation as to why Ginny was still shaking like a leaf, she added, "I had one too many cups of coffee today, I suppose."

Hadia nodded. "Believe me, dear, I know the feeling."

Ginny studied her reflection critically for a moment before announcing, "I suppose I'll just give up on the makeup."

"Believe me, Ginny, you look gorgeous without it," Hadia responded earnestly. A bit of a mischievous sparkle danced in her dark eyes. "And I'm quite sure a certain Mr. Potter is _incredibly_ aware of that."

Ginny felt her cheeks flush, and she nervously avoided Hadia's gaze in the mirror (honestly, would she _ever_ stop being so shy on this particular subject?) as she replied, with a light laugh, "Hermione told me about the mistletoe."

Hadia smiled. "I'll have to plead guilty. Sirius and I couldn't resist."

"I'm glad you didn't," Ginny said, flashing a grateful smile at Hadia's reflection. 

"Well," Hadia said teasingly, "I suppose it's just written in the stars."

"Oh, completely," Ginny agreed wryly. "With a bit of desperately needed help from you and Sirius."

Hadia shook her head, glossy hair brushing lightly against her face. "Oh, no, dear. You can't help fate, regardless of whether you try to or not. It takes its own course."

Ginny smiled, enjoying what that clearly implied. "Well, I guess Harry and I are simply meant to be, then."

Hadia nodded, warmth swirling in her eyes. "I suppose so."

*

There was a silent storm brewing in his eyes as they Apparated into the deserted Malfoy home. A chill seemed to dance through the long, empty corridors, and Cryssa enjoyed its presence. She had always embraced the cold.

They were silent, and she didn't attempt at conversation. She knew him; knew every trick of his mind, every yearning in his soul, every pain in the heart that he pretended not to possess. He was aware she knew all this, and she knew as well that he feared her for it.

She had always embraced fear as well.

He stormed into his bedroom chambers; she followed him, knowing he wouldn't protest. Sooner or later, he would say something, anything. She expected it to be something bitter and cold and piercing, but she found it unsettling that she couldn't believe this with a certainty. That girl had an effect on him that she didn't like. It changed him. 

He didn't need to change. Though she hated to admit it, hated to make herself weak, she knew that she needed him just as he was. They were alike, the pair of them; cold and jaded and without the slightest trace of a conscience.

She loved him.

She loved him, and she hated it, but she knew that simply loathing this cursed emotion wouldn't make it change.

Silently, she watched him as he snapped a finger and the fireplace burst into livid orange flames. He began to pace around the room, his steely gaze growing more and more heated.

It was time to speak.

"Draco," she said simply. 

He looked up at her, sneering. "What the hell is so alluring about Harry fucking Potter? You're female, Cryssa."

"Nice observation."

He silenced her with a Look, but she was sure to put a spark of defiance in her gaze as she stared back at him. 

"So, what is it about him?" Draco continued, his voice silky cold and spilling from pale lips like water. "Is he Prince fucking Charming? Can he ride with her out into the sunset so they can live happily ever after?"

"Maybe for her," Cryssa responded evenly. "She's that kind of girl, Draco. The kind who wants to be the perfect little fairytale princess. She's got stuffed animals on her bed. Her room's decorated entirely in purple. She's sweet and naive and everything that you don't need."

She vaguely worried that he would question how she knew this. He didn't.

"I don't care. I don't fucking care about her."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Then why are you dwelling on this?" She paused, the tension lingering in the air like smoke. "I think you've fallen in love with her."

Their eyes linked in a gaze so intense it almost pained her. He was drawing her in slowly, defying her with those eyes. 

And she let him.

*

Darkness enveloped Ginny as she turned off her lamp with a soft click. A contented sigh escaped her lips - the howling wind was distant and quiet from where it raged outside. 

The evening had gone splendidly; they'd had a strangely delicious dinner, considering Harry and Ron were the chefs, presents had been exchanged, and she, Hadia, and Hermione had agreed to go shopping for Hermione's wedding dress the next day.

Ginny blushed with pleasure as she remembered the present she'd received from Harry. He'd admitted to her, quite sheepishly, that he'd forgotten to get her a present, and had composed her a poem instead. 

A poem that rather resembled a poem that _she_ had composed ten years before.

'_Her eyes are as brown as a sweet chocolate frog_

Her hair is as brilliant as fire,

I wish she were mine, she's really divine,

The girl who I really admire.'

She giggled a bit to herself as she remembered how he'd shyly handed her the piece of paper and requested that she didn't open it until she was alone - to spare him the embarrassment, he added.

At the bottom of the paper, he'd drawn a rather lopsided heart.

Needless to say, Ginny was officially madly in love with him.

Not that she hadn't been before, but...

Sigh.

She was startled out of her happy, lovestruck reverie by the soft sound of her doorknob twisting open. Her eyes immediately flew to the door, caution swelling up inside of her.

Cloaked in darkness, only illuminated by the soft moonlight that leaked through her window, a very familiar figure stepped inside.

Ginny smiled.

"Hi, Harry," she said quietly. "I loved the poem. You definitely have a gift."

Harry didn't reply; instead, a rather flirtatious grin had spread across his face. 

Well, well, well.

This could certainly get interesting.

Not that she was complaining.

Soundlessly, he crossed the room and approached her bed - she suddenly found herself worrying whether her hair was messy or anything of that nature, but he seemingly couldn't care less. 

Instead, he pressed his mouth against hers with a frightening insistency.

And it felt as though she were drowning; she had inhaled ice water; she couldn't breathe and her lungs hurt and the blood in her veins had seemed to turn to ice.

Tom's kiss.

She attempted to scream, but his lips were violent, unrelenting; his tongue explored her mouth with a violent intensity, and she felt so cold, so cold and scared and meek and faint.

And he pulled away from her for a moment, but still she couldn't breathe - still she was shivering and cold and afraid. 

He smiled at her. It wasn't Harry's face.

She screamed as Tom smiled coldly at her; screamed and screamed, her voice ringing in her ears, piercing and high and shrill. 

"Virginia," he whispered simply.

And then he was gone.

*

She watched the flames, enjoying the sensation of his fingertips grazing against her bare skin. He had just fallen asleep, his lips centimeters from her neck. His breath was icy and cold, like his kiss.

She sighed and delicately traced the faint outline of the Dark Lord's Mark that was eternally etched into his skin, as well as her own. 

He regretted it, she knew.

So did she.

And yet it bound them together, this Mark. It ensured that the things they had experienced would always be with them, haunting them adamantly until they died. Maybe even beyond...who knew? 

And their souls would be entwined with the same iced passion that their bodies had been moments before. 

He was hers, she his, and the both of them knew.

And as she slowly lowered crimson lips to caress the tainted flesh, a triumphant smile played in her eyes.

Cryssa knew he wouldn't stray again. 

__


	12. Of Bewitchments and Breakups

****

Imaginary Romance

__

by She's a Star

****

Chapter Twelve: Of Bewitchments and Breakups

Author's Note: I'm sooooooooooooorrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyy! Please, please have mercy! I know I neglect this story horribly, but I just get the worst writers block on it all the time and . . . and . . . I'm still very, very sorry.

Siriusly.

Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed - I'm so sorry that it took a thousand years or so to get this up. I have a bit of a problem with this fic: my mind always goes blank on it, and then when I _do_ write, it's always completely weird 'cause the fic likes to spiral out of my control.

Oh well. 

...Enjoy?

*

She screamed. 

He had disappeared, he had gone, any slightest trace that he had ever been there no longer remained.

And still she screamed.

She felt cold, eternally cold, as though warmth would never fill her soul again. Shivers shook her, relentless, and she knew somehow that this was the kind of chill that a cup of hot cocoa or a seat in front of a roaring fire couldn't cure.

It scared her.

And still a high, shrill scream poured from her lips.

She could hear voices, faintly, a voice that reassured her, a voice that was so wonderfully familiar; if only she could stop, listen to it, and yet she couldn't stop, she couldn't control herself, couldn't control anything-

"Ginny!"

His voice was sharp, frightened, and everything seemed frighteningly crystalline for a moment before she grew more calm.

"Harry," she said, faintly, blinking a few times. The worried faces of Harry, Ron, and Hermione slowly grew more clear.

"Ginny, what's wrong?" Ron asked, concern written all over his countenance. 

"Tom," she whispered, though she knew she shouldn't tell them this, shouldn't worry them. 

"Tom?" Harry repeated urgently. "Tom Riddle?"

She nodded, weakly. "He was here."

"How could he be here?" Hermione asked, tone pensive - she was thinking out loud, Ginny could tell. "He disappeared, he _died_ when Harry defeated him."

"First...." Ginny said shakily, "First he was Harry."

"What?" Harry and Ron looked utterly bewildered. 

Hermione, on the other hand, had apparently realized something, due to the gasp that she let out. She then began to mumble to herself, very distractedly.

"Yes...yes, it could be....but surely it's not...it's not supposed to...It's a legend, it isn't even real, for certain....it requires incredibly dark magic...but I can't think of anything else that it would-"

"Hermione!" Ron barked. "Out with it, already!"

"All right!" she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "This sounds like...oh, but I can't believe that it would actually-"

"Hermione!" Ron and Harry cried in unison.

"Fine," she said, looking a bit indignant. "I think - and I'm not sure, but I can't think of anything else it could be - this is Acerbus Opacum."

Harry still looked rather blank, but some sort of recognition seemed to stir in Ron's mind at this.

"You mean that spell?" he asked.

Hermione looked rather annoyed. "Oh, yes, Ron, very specific."

"The one that's powered by unintentional magic-"

"I _know_ what the spell does, Ron! If you hadn't interrupted me-"

"Well, excuse me, Miss Know-It-All. I'll never attempt to explain something again-"

While the argument raged on, Harry sunk down onto the bed next to Ginny and bit his lip nervously.

"You okay?" he asked. His shoulder brushed against hers; it was unsettling. She expected him to feel so cold, so like Tom, and he didn't, and she _knew_ he wasn't, and yet...

"Fine," she whispered back. She tried to be logical, to remind herself that he was Harry, the Harry she'd been smitten with for the past decade, the Harry who always had messy hair and said 'er' every other word when he was nervous. 

Not Tom.

Not Tom.

"You are so unbearable sometimes!" Hermione shrieked shrilly - Ginny felt oddly grateful for the distraction. She didn't want to dwell on Tom. She didn't want to think about him. She didn't want him to ruin Harry.

Seeming to sense her discomfort, Harry snapped, "Okay, you two, stop it! Just tell us what the damned spell is already!"

Ron and Hermione both looked quite affronted for a moment before turning equally lethal glares on one another. Harry sighed in exasperation. 

"You _guys_," he said pointedly.

"Oh, fine!" Hermione said, cross. "Acerbus Opacum-" she shot a Look at Ron, "-is a spell composed of uncontrolled magic-"

"Like that time you blew up your aunt, Harry," Ron cut in helpfully. 

"Yes," Hermione said, most impatiently, "Like the time you blew up your aunt." She sent him a rather disapproving look. (Apparently, she felt that she had yet to have scolded him properly about that.) "It deals with the sole person that you yearn for, the person whose presence you desire the most in your life-"

"Kind of like the Mirror of Erised," Ron threw in.

"Yes, Ron," Hermione said through clenched teeth. (Ginny thought perhaps her brother should stop his attempts at helping.) "But in most normal circumstances, the desire is sprung from lack of attainability. You miss a certain person so much that someone else whose attention you _can_ obtain serves as them at first before they show in their true form."

"It's..." Ginny was shivering, involuntarily - she hated that her voice sounded so weak and small. "...It's not really them, is it?"

"No," Hermione said, sympathy apparent in her sharp brown eyes. "No. It's just a shadow."

"Oh," Ginny said weakly.

She didn't know what else to say.

"But I don't get it," Harry said. Worry was still apparent in his voice. "Why does this require such dark magic? It doesn't sound that sinister to me."

"Because," Hermione said, rather uneasily, "It deals with exploring. . . breaking into, almost . . . someone's _soul_. There are spells that can affect your body, like the Cruciatus Curse, and your mind, like the Imperius . . . but this is the only known spell to . . . oh, infiltrate, practically . . . your soul."

Ginny shivered. Harry placed his arm around her shoulders, a bit awkwardly, and she found herself wishing that he would remove it. She just didn't want to be near him, not right now. Not after what had just happened. But in a little while.

In a little while.

"How is the spell cast?" Ginny asked weakly.

"Well," Hermione said, looking rather timid, "It. . . sometimes, very rarely, it's said to be cast by a witch or wizard on the surroundings, but . . . oh, it's incredibly rare, and someone would have to be extraordinarily powerful . . ."

She was hiding something. Ginny could tell.

"What else?" she asked, her voice trembling a little.

"Well," Hermione bit her lip. "Usually. . . it's self-cast. Subconsciously."

Ginny looked down, but she could feel everyone's eyes on her. 

"That's impossible!" Ron said loudly. "Ginny wouldn't want him back! He practically destroyed her! She hates him!"

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded sharply.

Harry took his arm away.

Ginny was glad.

*

She had fancied him, a little, at the beginning of her first year. 

How could she not? He was so sweet, and so charming; he always said the right thing at the right time, and he seemed to _understand_ her in a way no one else ever had.

But she knew she was being stupid, knew that she couldn't like him like _that_. He was just a voice in a diary, for goodness' sake! She couldn't very well live happily ever after with a little black book!

And Harry was a bit like him, really. Only there were some things she liked better about Harry. Like how his hair was always messy, and how his eyes were _so_ green, where she could just drown in them, and how he always looked slightly bewildered when her mother buttered his toast or fussed over the state of his socks.

It was like he'd never truly been cared for before, and she wanted, somehow, to show him that she cared for him.

With Tom, it hadn't been like that. She hadn't felt like she had anything to prove to him. He understood her, and he would listen to her, and he cared about her. He'd told her that he'd cared about her.

Ginny had never had many friends: not _true_ friends. Best friends.

Tom had been her best friend.

And even after everything had happened, even after he'd nearly killed her, she'd still found herself missing him, a little bit. She missed having someone to talk to, someone who loved her simply because she _was_ Ginny, someone who would listen to her dreams and desires.

She had never found another friend quite like Tom.

She missed him.

She knew she wasn't supposed to: she always felt guilty when she did. 

But she couldn't help it, not really.

And now everyone knew. She had pretended for the past ten years that she didn't miss him, that she hated him, that she despised what he'd done to her. 

She'd kept up the facade so immaculately that she'd even begun to fool herself.

But it wasn't hidden.

Not anymore.

And it scared her.

*

"I look awful in white!"

Hermione was losing it. No. Not just losing it. Hermione Ophelia Granger was, in fact, **_LOSING IT_**. 

That, Ginny supposed, was what happened when one postponed wedding dress shopping 'till five days before they got married.

_Note to self: never do that._

...Or at least, don't bring someone along to witness it.

(She decided that she would _never_ forgive Hadia for bailing on them at the last second. _Ever._)

"Don't be ridiculous!" Ginny ordered, hastily putting back the last dress her distressed friend had tried on (and hated). "You look _beautiful_ in white."

Hermione was, apparently, not listening.

"What will Ron say?" she asked, eyes wide in dazed horror. "He's not going to want to marry me! I'll look _terrible_! He'll take one look at me and run off in the other direction! He-"

"He will _not_!" Ginny cut in, flipping through the racks of dresses in search of The Perfect One. (She had started mentally referring to it as being capitalized over the past hour or so, when finding it had become her sole desire in life.) "My brother loves you, Hermione. He'll think you're gorgeous no matter what you're wearing." Hermione sniffled audibly, and Ginny quickly threw in, "Because you _will_ look gorgeous. Obviously."

This clearly wasn't enough for her future sister-in-law.

"I just _cannot_ take the pressure!" Hermione wailed. "I've been worrying myself sick over this! I felt so nauseous this morning that I could barely get out of bed!"

"Maybe you're pregnant," Ginny teased.

Hermione gasped indignantly. "No!"

. . . Er . . .

"I was just joking," Ginny said weakly.

"Good," Hermione said with a stern (not to mention extremely Professor McGonagall-esque) Look. "Because we haven't exactly. . . well . . . you know . . ." She blushed.

"I know," Ginny replied at once, then added after a moment's thought, "You haven't?!"

"No!" Hermione said, looking scandalized. "We wanted to be married first!"

Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"All right," Hermione sighed. "_I_ wanted to be married first."

"That's Ron for you," Ginny smirked.

"But he's been a real gentleman about it!" Hermione protested. Her cheeks went red. "Well, except for that one time when-"

"Oookay," Ginny cut in quickly. "Too much information."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, looking rather embarrassed. "Right. Dress."

"Dress," Ginny repeated firmly.

They began to search once more, and Ginny held back a tired sigh. They'd been at Beatricia's Bridal Shoppe (_'Where the magically customized gowns outlast the marriages - guaranteed!'_) for the past three hours, and she wanted nothing more than to find a damned dress already so they could move onto Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor for a sundae.

She tried very, very hard not to think about the sundae.

Or Acerbus Opacum.

Or Tom.

Or . . . much of anything, for that matter.

_Dress. Dress, dress, dress..._

And then, lo and behold, there it was.

The Dress.

"Hermione," she said faintly.

"What?" the bride-to-be leaned over curiously to investigate. As soon as her gaze fell upon Ginny's discovery, a soft gasp escaped her lips.

It was white, as was to be expected of wedding gowns, but Hermione didn't seem at all put off by that fact. The fitted bodice was intricately embroidered with tiny pearls, and from the waistline flowed what seemed endless glistening satin. A filmy gossamer scarf that seemed alight with traces of stars accompanied the dream dress.

"Well, that's it, isn't it?" Hermione said, sounding a bit dazed.

Ginny nodded. "I think so."

"And how are things going with you ladies?"

They looked up to see Beatricia, the shop owner, making her way over to them with a smile on her near-frighteningly pretty face. 

"I think I'd like this one," Hermione said, still sounding slightly awed.

"Oh, yes, dear, that would look positively _lovely_ on you!" Beatricia said, beaming. "Now, have your measurements been taken already?"

Hermione nodded. "Your assistant has them."

"Splendid!" Beatricia exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Really, darling, this is a wonderful dress. It's quite an old design - I came up with it while I was married to my sixth husband."

"What happened to him?" Ginny asked without thinking.

Beatricia didn't seem at all put off by the question. "Oh, he passed away. May he rest in peace," she added casually. "We weren't really suited for one another, anyhow."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged bewildered glances.

"I'm sure I'll have much better luck with my up-and-coming marriage," Beatricia continued, shoving out her hand to display a disgustingly gaudy diamond ring. "He's a wonderful man. Maybe fourteen will prove to be my lucky number - thirteen sure wasn't." She scoffed, and Ginny could see that Hermione looked about as alarmed as she felt. 

"Now, dear," Beatricia continued, still grinning widely, "I'll adjust the dress so it will fit wonderfully, and then I'll have it owled to you. What's your address?"

"I'm staying at 1414 Morgana Way," Hermione said, a bit unsurely. 

"It will be there by tomorrow," Beatricia promised her. "Now, would you like to try it on?"

Hermione blushed a bit. "I suppose so."

"Go on," Ginny said, elbowing her friend lightly. "You have to. You know what Ron's going to say when he sees you in that."

*

"Dammit, Harry! I can't go through with this!"

A very pale Ron took a morose swig of butterbeer and looked morosely at his best friend. 

"Sure you can," Harry argued, scrubbing at a rather adamant spill covering nearly half of one of the tables. Being a bartender, he decided, was disgustingly overrated, especially since Rosmerta seemed to derive no greater joy from anything than forcing him to scrub tables.

Blech.

"But I can't!" Ron continued, alarmed. "Hermione is so smart! She's going to get sick of me soon and want someone like . . . God, I don't know. . . someone who's not me!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Ron, she's pretty much tolerated you for the past eleven years. What makes you think that she's suddenly going to be tired of you?"

"I'm an unbearable prat, that's why!" Ron yelped.

"She's told you that at least a thousand times," Harry said, snickering. "And you're just realizing it now?"

"You're not helping," Ron scowled, sipping his butterbeer again. "Don't you have anything stronger? I'm not a bloody house elf!"

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow at his best friend. "Right. Like I'm giving you anything. You're already scary enough as it is."

"Hey!" Ron cried, affronted. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

"You're losing it," Harry replied easily. 

"I am not!"

"Right," Harry agreed. "You're _Losing It._"

"I am _not_!" Ron protested, slamming down his mug and soaking the front of his shirt with butterbeer. "I'm perfectly calm!"

Harry snorted. "Oh, right. Perfectly calm. That's why you're attempting to drown yourself in butterbeer."

"Harry, come ooon!" Ron wailed. "Just give me something, _anything_ alcoholic." He pouted. "Hermione hates alcohol. _Hates_ it. Oh, God! I'll never get properly drunk again for the rest of my life!"

"Calm down," Harry instructed. "There's got to be champagne at the wedding. It's tradition. Just drink as much as you possibly can."

"Right," Ron snorted. "And be completely pissed on our _wedding night_. I don't even want to think about what could happen then."

Harry considered this. "True. Well, looks like you're out of luck, mate."

Ron groaned dramatically and collapsed, rather awkwardly, onto the table, just as the door swung open with a rather startling _BANG!_

Harry jumped. 

"Goddammit, you are the most unbearable bastard in the entire world! _Ever_!" a female voice shrieked furiously. 

"Thank you for clearing that up, Auriga," an all-too-familiar sinister tone replied coldly. "And I must say, I feel compelled to tell you what a _wonderful_ idea it was to get the night off and spend a bit of quality time together. This is romantic beyond all human comprehension."

"Fuck off," ordered a rather disgruntled-looking Professor Sinistra before turning to face the thoroughly shocked faces of Ron and Harry. "Oh, hello, boys!" she said brightly, straightening her glasses. "How are you?"

". . . Fine?" Harry volunteered weakly.

"Peachy," Ron threw in, looking as though he was trying _very_ hard not to burst into laughter. 

Snape simply glared at them.

"So, Ron, are you nervous?" Sinistra continued, sinking down onto a bar stool. "You're getting married quite soon."

"A little," Ron replied rather thickly, still apparently holding back hysterics.

"Word of advice, Weasley," Snape spat. "Save yourself the agony. Shrieking she-bats, the whole damned lot of them."

"Don't!" Sinistra snapped at once, her amber eyes immediately narrowing into angry slits. "Don't you _dare_ throw the word bat around, Severus Snape. D'you really want to talk about bats, because _you_-"

"Er," Harry cut in nervously, "Does anyone want anything?"

"Give me the strongest thing you have," Snape instructed, sneaking a glare at Sinistra.

Well, this was a bit awkward.

. . . To say the least.

The very, very, _very_ least.

Sinistra raised an eyebrow at Snape, then turned and asked Harry, with a saccharine smile, "Say, do you have any _coffee_?"

Snape's left eye twitched.

"Yeah," Harry replied uneasily. "Yeah, I think so."

"Potter," Snape barked, "Give me some Ogden's Old Firewhisky."

"Yes sir," Harry responded immediately before realizing how ridiculous it sounded. _Really_. He was twenty-two years old and still terrified of Snape.

Then again, he reflected as he glanced uneasily at the scowling Potions master, Could anyone really blame him?

With shaking hands, he poured both drinks and handed them to the respective professors. He wasn't sure if he had just imagined it, but it looked as though Snape flinched when Harry set down the mug of coffee in front of Sinistra.

The two drank in silence, sneaking _very_ violent glares at one another as they sipped their beverages. Harry and Ron exchanged rather frightened glances throughout this, both clearly wondering when it would end. From behind where Harry stood at the counter, he could hear the audible 'tick-tock' of the old-fashioned clock hanging from the wall.

_Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . ._

All right, this was just bloody ridiculous. Judging by how time was passing now, this awkward little scenario wouldn't end for another year or so.

And call him crazy, but Harry didn't want to witness one of Snape and Sinistra's little lovers' quarrels for an entire twelve-month period of his life.

Crazy indeed.

"Hi, Harry! Ron! We got the most beautiful dress-"

Ginny's voice filled the air as the door swung open, and she and Hermione came into the pub, both smiling broadly. Their grins faltered, however, at the sight of a certain Severus Snape.

"Er . . . hello, Auriga," Hermione said awkwardly. "Professor Snape."

"Hello, Hermione," Sinistra said with a warm smile. The two seemed to get on very well, and Harry could see why: they were quite similar in appearance, both with the same wildly bushy hair, though Sinistra's was more auburn than brown. Not to mention that both could be rather vicious to their significant others.

Snape slammed his glass down onto the counter rather viciously. "Auriga. We're leaving."

"Well, that's gallant," the Astronomy professor deadpanned, standing up and pushing her coffee mug a bit toward Snape as she moved it across the counter. Snape flinched involuntarily.

. . . All right, then.

The two professors rose, Snape looking even more malevolent than usual as they swept toward the door. Sinistra flashed an apologetic smile over her shoulder.

"A word of advice, Weasley," Snape snapped, a sneer on his face as he turned one last time. "Save yourself before it's too late."

And with that, the door swung shut behind them, allowing the rather frightened-looking inhabitants of The Three Broomsticks to see Sinistra swatting Snape rather violently on the arm before it closed completely.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked, a bit weakly.

"Er . . . wedding advice?" Ron volunteered.

"Don't take it," Hermione ordered, frowning.

"Don't worry," Ron said, hastily pushing aside his mug of butterbeer to peck his fiancée on the cheek.

Harry grinned a bit awkwardly at Ginny, feeling his cheeks light up involuntarily, and she smiled back. It was scary, really, the way she could turn him into a stammering idiot while in her presence for approximately a third of a second. Then again, he thought as her smile widened and she approached him, it wasn't an entirely bad thing.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked. 

"It was tedious," Ginny replied in mock gravity. "There was a half hour or so where I was convinced I wouldn't make it out of there alive. But then we found . . . The Dress."

"I take it that's a good thing," Harry said, laughing.

"Oh, yes," Ginny agreed, nodding. "She's going to look gorgeous."

"You look gorgeous," he said, then abruptly cringed. He had to admit, the whole mouth-rebelling-against-the-brain was a bit of a negative aspect of this whole crush thing. 

Her cheeks went red, and she giggled a bit. "Well, aren't you a smooth talker?"

"Er, sorry," he replied, mentally kicking himself. "I didn't mean to say that."

"I think I'll get over it," she replied teasingly, flashing him a quick wink.

He wondered dimly if he could just quit his job, forget about absolutely everything else in his life, and marry her right away so they could be together forever and ever and he'd be able to look at her for the rest of his life.

. . . Not that he was rushing into the relationship, or anything like that.

Nope.

'Course not.

"You want something to drink?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. Ginny giggled, and he groaned inwardly.

"I've just messed it up worse, haven't I?"  
"Just a little," she replied, smiling. "Come here."

He stepped forward obediently, and Ginny immediately began fussing over his hair in a way that was incredibly reminiscent of her mother. 

"Ugh, Ginny, stop it," Ron groaned. "You're turning into Mum."

"I don't mind," Harry said quickly.

"Oh, right," Ron scowled. "You're being disgustingly mushy. I forgot."

"Ron!" Hermione admonished sharply.

"Oh, shove off, Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "If you think _this_ is disgustingly mushy, then you're even more pathetically ignorant than I always gave you credit for."

"Really?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "What _is_ disgustingly mushy, then? I don't suppose you'd care to demonstrate?"

Ginny exchanged a glance with Harry, one that clearly instructed 'go along with what I say'. He nodded shortly, a bit afraid of what she was going to do. Yes, Ginny came off as being a sweet girl (albeit a bit snarky and on rare occasions verbally abusive), but one had to keep in mind that she _was_ related to Fred and George. 

"Oh, Harry," she breathed. "I love you! I've always loved you! Your eyes are as green as--"

"A fresh pickled toad?" Ron cut in, snickering.

Ginny paused for a moment, and Harry awaited some sort of snappish remark, but to his surprise, she simply shrugged and said, "Yeah, that works."

"Well, jeez, Gin," Harry replied jokingly, "I'm not sure how to reply to that. I mean, it really can't be topped."

"Then you could always go traditional on me," Ginny suggested, a bit coyly.

"And that would be how?" Harry asked.

"Easy," she said, grinning for a moment before she struck an overly dramatic pose and breathed, "Just kiss me, you fool!"

Well, he couldn't very well turn down an eloquently phrased order like that.

And if he was going to do it, he might as well do it properly.

Glancing quickly at Ron, who was scowling and rolling his eyes rather violently, he made his decision. He threw a quick wink at Hermione before promptly wriggling his eyebrows mischievously, setting the damnable dishrag aside, and climbing onto the counter. Ginny's eyes widened a little, but she recovered quickly and faked a rather melodramatic swoon.

"Oh, Harry!"

"Oh, Ginny!"

"Oh, gag me," Ron deadpanned. Hermione, who was watching the whole scene with a sort of disapproving amusement, nudged him lightly. 

Rather shocked at his own foolish daring (it helped that the pub was completely empty apart from them), Harry encircled Ginny's wrist with his fingers and pulled her up onto the counter next to him. She giggled a little, but fixed her expression into one of near-ridiculous ardor. 

"Your wish is my command," he said in a ridiculously deep voice, leaning forward, lips centimeters from her own when--

"Harry! Oh my _God_!"

Whoops.

"Please tell me I'm seeing things!" a very distraught looking Susan begged as she burst into the pub, her blue, heavily lined eyes wide with horror. 

"You're seeing things?" Ron offered.

"No I'm _not_!" Susan screeched, affronted. "How dare you imply such a thing? I suppose you think I'm insane now, don't you? You think I'm too stupid to figure out what's going on here!"

Harry, currently straddled rather awkwardly over Ginny, who was lying very dramatically across the counter, couldn't help but think that it didn't exactly take a genius to figure out what was going on.

"Er, Susan," he said weakly, getting away from Ginny at once, "I don't think things are exactly . . . _working_ between us."

"How _could_ you, Harry?" Susan shrieked, her voice rather reminiscent of a banshee's. "After all we've been through together!"

_Like cookbooks. And breakups. And . . . more cookbooks._

"After all I've done for you!"

_Like informing me rather blatantly that my parents are dead and insulting my friends repeatedly._

"I GOT MY NAILS DONE RED FOR YOU!" Susan screamed, holding out one perfectly manicured hand as evidence. "BECAUSE YOU SAID THAT PINK WASN'T WORKING FOR ME, AND I LOVED YOU AND TRUSTED YOUR JUDGMENT ENOUGH TO CHANGE MY ENTIRE _MANICURE_ FOR YOU!" She paused to take a breath, then continued. "And _this_ is how you repay me?"

"Sorry?" Harry volunteered timidly.

She fixed him with a frighteningly lethal death glare for approximately a fifth of a second before bursting into sobs.

"Sorry!" he repeated, a bit more fervently. 

Of course she had to cry. And while he knew she was completely insincere, it still irked upon his conscience.

Blasted women and their manipulative ways.

"We're through, Harry!" Susan wailed. "Done! Finished!"

He assumed that simply replying with 'okay' or 'that's fine by me' wasn't quite appropriate in this situation. 

Instead, he replied with an ever-coherent "Er . . ."

"Don't try to sweet-talk me, Harry James Potter!" Susan shrieked. "I'm leaving! Goodbye! _Forever_!"

And with that, she spun on her heel and marched out of The Three Broomsticks.

The four of them exchanged rather bewildered glances.

"Well, that wasn't at all dramatic," Ron finally said.

"Oh, no," Hermione agreed, a bit shaken.

"Well," said Harry.

"Well," agreed Ginny.

He looked at her to find that she was sporting an expression of light concern. For a millisecond, he wondered what that could possibly be about before realizing that he had, in fact, just broken up with his girlfriend. It hadn't come as much of a shock to him, most likely because he had pretty much forgotten she existed ever since Ginny had come to live with him.

"It's all right," Harry assured her. "Really."

"You mean you're not heartbroken?" Ginny asked, her warm eyes sparkling a bit.

"Not exactly," Harry grinned. "So . . . where were we?"

(Ron groaned.)

*

Draco had no idea what he was doing.

Well, all right, he _did_ have an idea what he was doing. He wasn't completely daft, after all; not like some people. (Including Potter and every Weasley to have ever walked the planet.)

Yes, he observed as he stepped into the shop and immediately scowled, he knew what he was doing.

He was buying flowers.

_Buying. Flowers._

For Cryssa, no less.

He didn't know why the hell he was in here, surrounded by the sickly, overpowering scents of hundreds of different flowers, all lingering together in a way that made him feel a bit lightheaded.

_How quaint,_ he thought, lip twisting into a sneer, _Tripping on gardenias._

But as to why he was doing this, he was completely bewildered. He had never bought anything for Cryssa before, not even when they were engaged: after all, he hadn't been about to waste his money on some woman who he was already going to marry for certain, anyway.

Most likely, (he sneered again), it all came back to Ginny.

Perfect, sweet Virginia Weasley.

Before he'd dated her, buying flowers had been a completely foreign concept, right up there with Muggle sports and being nice to people.

Why should he be buying Cryssa flowers, anyway? Just because they'd slept together didn't mean that they were immediately soulmates. Far from it. He was Draco Malfoy: he'd be damned if he started calling her 'sweetie' and spouting ridiculous love poetry.

And yet here he was, buying flowers.

He shook his head a few times in a desperate attempt to focus, and immediately headed toward the chillingly elegant display of black roses. Whenever his father had gotten his mother flowers, he had always gotten black roses, and Draco didn't see why he shouldn't allow the custom to live on.

But as he made his way toward them, something he spotted out of the corner of his eye stopped him. Charmingly modest, a small display of vibrant yellow and orange roses seemed to beckon him.

_Buy me . . . buy me . . . _

No. No way. Cryssa would mock him to next Tuesday and back. It would be awful. Humiliating. Black roses were one thing -something that basically said 'thanks, the sex was great, you're really hot, but I wouldn't care if you died tomorrow'. But _these_ roses; they were completely different. 'I like you,' they seemed to proclaim. 'I really like you. You mean something to me.'

. . . Holy shit. Now he was imagining what flowers would say.

All based on _colors_, no less.

It was completely ridiculous.

Scowling, he snatched up a bouquet of a dozen yellow and orange roses and made his way over to pay. The elderly witch at the cash register smiled at him and said warmly, "These are lovely. Are they for your girlfriend?"

Oh, God.

"No, actually," he replied smoothly, "They're for this girl that I slept with last night, but don't really care about: I only did it because I was angry due to the fact that my girlfriend broke up with me to go out with the Boy Who fucking Lived."

The woman's jaw dropped.

With a charming smile, Draco handed over two galleons and said, very politely, "Have a nice day!" before exiting the shop.

Feeling a bit better, he stepped out into the semi-busy Hogsmeade streets and prepared to Apparate back to the manor. However, before realizing it, he found himself staring down at the flowers. 'I like you! I like you!' they sang.

Glaring, he snarled, "Oh, shut up."


	13. Through Quills and Quiet Evenings

****

Author's Note: It is, in fact, still alive. I wanted it to be dead - I've wanted to abandon this fic for ages, as it has given me hell like no other fic has before in my life. And then I read OotP and, well, it's safe to say that it completely destroyed my plot in ways I thought impossible. But then I started feeling rather guilty about just _abandoning_ it, so I talked about continuing it, but I didn' think I actually would. But then, oddly, somehow, inspiration struck, and so after over two months and some new canon that makes this thoroughly unacceptable, you get a new chapter of IR! 

I'm going to be doing some light revising - for example, Cryssa's mind-reading that was mentioned when she was first introduced can now be referred to as Legilimency, thanks to the glorious book five. So I'm not just throwing the Legilimency thing in, if anyone's confused. She could always do the mind-reading thing. (Though I must admit, even I forgot she could do that until I went through and reread the fic today.)

Thank you so much to everyone who's still reading this, and this is in a severely alternate universe, obviously, as someone who should be dead (but he's actually in Bermuda. He's not dead. He's not dead. Er. Denial. Right. Not just a river in Egypt.) is still very much alive. But . . . I'm going to try to proceed with it as I had it originally planned, going by GoF-canon.

And I think my rambling should conclude right about here.

Oh, yes, and Crys? You owe me, darling. ;-)

And (I will shut up eventually, I promise) thanks so much to Crys, Storm, Milla, and Dia, without whom I would have never gotten around to writing this. What ever would I do without you guys?

****

Disclaimer: The wedding vows are the brilliant work of Milla. :-)

****

Chapter Thirteen: Through Quills and Quiet Evenings

Flowers.

Orange and yellow fucking _flowers_.

Draco stared, rather repulsed, at the bouquet, wondering exactly why he hadn't realized the extreme level of absolute hideousness pertaining to the aforementioned flowers until now. He'd set them down on the dining room table, and the rich green of the tablecloth seemed to display with flourish the absolute disgusting garishness of the roses.

"Draco Malfoy, you are out of your fucking mind," he muttered, not quite able to remove his eyes from the terrifying sight.

Well, one thing was for sure: there was no way in hell that he could give Cryssa these. She'd mock him until the day he died (unless - and this wasn't the most unlikely possibility - he killed her first, but then there was a very high chance that she'd come back to haunt him about it, just because that was the kind of annoying - to - the - point - of - no - return thing that Cryssa Raine did).

So now he was stuck with a shitload of indescribably ugly flowers. How peachy.

Wrinkling his nose, he decided that no one in their right mind could possibly find the slightest trace of beauty in these things. As a matter of fact, the only person he could imagine caring for them at all was Ginny Weasley. God knew she'd probably squeal in delight at such pretty, bright, happy flowers.

Ugh.

. . . And now here he was, thinking about her again.

Dammit.

The little bitch had ruined him. _Ruined him_. Never in a million years would he have bought flowers like . . . that, had it not been for their brief 'courtship'. He'd used to be Draco Malfoy, hot and heartless; sure, he was a cocky bastard with commitment issues, but since no one had ever really wanted to commit, it hadn't been much of a problem.

And now . . . (he shuddered) . . . now, he was Romeo fucking Montague. 'Oh, looketh, fair lady! Looketh down yonder on ye table and thou shalt see sincerest tokens of mine affections! Now lo, we shall snog!'

. . . Ugh. UghUghUghUghUgh.

He was going to be bloody _sick_.

Well, one thing was for certain: he had to get Virginia Weasley out of his head before she completely destroyed him and all that he stood for.

And he needed to get rid of these Goddamn flowers before someone saw them.

He didn't even want to imagine what could happen then.

"Why did I buy you?" he snapped in frustration at the offending bouquet. "You're going to destroy me!"

The flowers stared innocently back.

Draco knew somehow that if they'd had eyelashes, this would be the time in which they fluttered them at him.

Damned things.

"Stop it," he snarled. "I'm not going to fall for that."

"Draco?"

Oh, shit.

He gave the flowers one last death glare before turning to face Cryssa, attempting to gather his usual haughty nonchalance.

"Hey."

Well, damn, he was articulate.

She raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. "Hey yourself. Who were you talking to?"

"I wasn't talking to anyone," he said, far too quickly. Her smirk grew even more pronounced, and he cringed. In a much cooler tone, he added, "It must be those pesky voices in your head, Raine."

"Oh, clever," she deadpanned, craning her neck a bit to see past him. "Who are those flowers for?"

"No one," he replied hastily. 

"So you just keep them around for casual conversation?" Cryssa inquired with a saccharine smile. "How quaint!"

"Fuck off!" Draco mimicked in the same syrupy sweet tone. 

"Can I offer you a little bit of advice?" Cryssa asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest and staring analytically at the offensive bouquet.

"I suppose you could," he replied offhandedly.

"Don't give those to the poor girl you've singled out," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Because they're absolutely hideous."  
He fucking hated her.

"Don't worry," he snapped. "I wouldn't want to give her any ideas."

"Don't worry," she returned. "She doesn't have any."

"Good," Draco said, falling silent and glaring at her.

She glared back for a moment before apparently deciding to change tactics; flipping her dark hair, she smiled and fluttered her lashes. "Draco, did you buy me flowers?"

Bitch.

Bitch-bitch-oh-he-hated-her-bitch.

(Damned Legilimency.)

"No," he said defensively, and tried very hard to get her out of his head as rather painful memories of purchasing the flowers raced through his mind. (He had never been much of an Occlumens, and always wound up regretting it in her presence.)

She raised an eyebrow at him.

. . . Shit.

"But you can bloody well have them, since you seem so emotionally attached," he continued, lifting the hideous bunch of flowers from the table and shoving them at her.

"Your chivalry's dazzling," Cryssa deadpanned, holding the flowers away as though they possessed some sort of fatal disease. "I'm really swooning."

"You seem to do that around me," Draco snapped, fixing her with one last glare before storming out of the room.

That haughty, sarcastic, unbearable bitch. He couldn't _stand_ her. The only one allowed to be haughty, sarcastic, and unbearable in their relationship was _him_. And it made _him_ look good. It added to The Malfoy Allure. 

_She_ was just an unbearable bitch.

Still glaring at nothing in general, he surveyed his surroundings angrily for a moment before realization struck.

Taking a deep breath and attempting to compose himself, he made his way slowly back into the room.

"Cryssa?"

"Mm-hmm?" she asked, looking up from the horrendous bouquet and raising an eyebrow at him.

BitchBitchBitchBitch.

Fighting for composure, he informed her, "It's my house."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh," Cryssa said finally. "Right." Another pause. "So I guess I'm the one who's supposed to storm out, right?"

"That's the general idea," Draco informed her, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," said Cryssa.

"Yes," said Draco.

They stared at each other.

And then, with mirrored actions, Cryssa threw her arms over Draco's shoulders while he placed his hands on her waist; their mouths smashed together and the flowers fell, sadly forgotten, to the floor.

*

Hermione Granger was a slave to stress.

A slave. There was no hope for her.

And Ginny was officially scared.

Unable to shake the feeling that something was liable to explode at any moment, Ginny glanced around Hermione's normally immaculate Hogwarts bedroom quarters. Her desk was covered in assorted bouquets, and dresses were strewn all around the room. Hermione's mother, Katherine Granger (who was surprisingly calm), was quietly straightening the dresses while her daughter muttered semi-hysterically to herself.

Ginny wasn't sure she wanted to get married - it seemed horribly stressful.

She also wasn't sure she wanted to tell Hermione the news she came bearing.

. . . . All right, never mind that.

She was _positive_ that she didn't want to tell Hermione.

But she supposed there was no choice.

"Hermione," Ginny ventured delicately.

"What?" Hermione snapped from where she stood in front of the mirror, yanking violently at her hair with a brush. This, unfortunately, only succeeded in making it more unruly. 

"Don't freak out," Ginny continued meekly.

Hermione turned on Ginny with a glare that seemed to shoot sparks.

Instinctively, Ginny backed away a few feet.

"What?" Hermione hissed, more violently this time.

"Ronlosthistie," Ginny informed her feet as quickly as she could.

"WHAT?!?" Hermione roared.

Ginny jumped backward in surprise.

"But it's not a big deal or anything," she threw in hastily. "I mean, he can get another tie easily! He can take Harry's tie-"

"Harry's tie is _green_!" Hermione cried shrilly. "Green! It matches Harry's eyes, but nothing about Ron will match with _green_!"

"Hermione!" snapped Mrs. Granger from where she was adjusting Hermione's wedding dress. "Calm down!"

"Mu-um!" Hermione wailed. "I cannot calm down! This is a disaster! A _disaster_! Oh, I knew things wouldn't work out! Ron can't get married without a tie! This is ridiculous! My God, it's never going to work! Never, never, never! Oooooohhhh-"

"Hermione," Ginny said, alarmed. "Breathe."

"My daughter's gone mad," Mrs. Granger was mumbling to herself, shaking her head. "Absolutely mad."

"WHY CAN'T I HAVE NORMAL HAIR?!" Hermione exploded, eyeing her reflection. "Why does Ron want to marry me, anyway? I'm hideous and my hair deserves its own zip code!"

"Hermione, you're beautiful!" Ginny and Mrs. Granger exclaimed in unison.

"But please," Ginny added, "For the love of God, _shut up_."

Hermione was silent for a moment, as though she'd temporarily frozen. Ginny and Mrs. Granger exchanged a nervous look.

_Oh dear. What have I done?_

Hermione took a deep breath. "You're right."

Ginny resisted the urge to sigh in relief.

"Of course you're right," Hermione continued. "Tell Ron that he can borrow one of the twins' ties - George hates them, anyway."

"Will do."

"Thank you," Hermione said, then turned back to the mirror. "My _hair_."

"Hermione!" Mrs. Granger and Ginny snapped simultaneously.

Hermione chided her mother and Ginny with a glare that clearly said, _'The tie may be solved, but the hair is _not_'_.

Ginny looked at Mrs. Granger and offered weakly, "Maybe we should have gone to a salon?"

"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it?" Hermione exploded again, throwing her arms into the air. "And I'm just going to have to go out there with awful hair and everyone will laugh and -"

"You know, Hermione," Ginny said weakly, "Professor Sinistra won't laugh. Her hair's just as bad as yours!"

. . . That hadn't come out right.

(Hermione fixed her glare on Ginny.)

"Maybe even worse!" Ginny threw in, laughing nervously.

"Ginny," Mrs. Granger cut in with a weak smile. "Why don't you go see how the guys are doing? I think I need a moment with my daughter."

"Okay," Ginny said gratefully, struggling not to run as she left the room.

As soon as the door had closed behind her, she sighed in relief and made her way down the corridor. Upon being here, she'd realized just how much she missed Hogwarts - the paintings, the classrooms, everything. (Except, perhaps, a certain Chamber one could access from the out-of-order girl's lavatory.)

"Hey."

She smiled at the sound of Harry's voice and turned around. Sure enough, there he was, buttoning his suit jacket as he made his way toward her. 

"Hi," she replied, smiling. "Dressed already?"

"Yeah," Harry said, glancing toward the door that led to Ron's quarters. "I needed a break from the groom."

"Oh, I know what you mean," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Hermione's gone completely hysterical."

"Ron's practically turning blue," Harry reported. "Though that could be because he's so nervous that he keeps nearly strangling himself with his tie."

Ginny laughed. "Oh, the joys of marriage."

"Something like that," Harry agreed, grinning.

"I can't believe _Ron_'s getting married first," Ginny continued. "We always thought that-"

Unfortunately, she was cut off by a rather irritated screech. "Sev, you _have_ to go! Don't even _attempt_ to fight me on this!"

Harry and Ginny exchanged bewildered glances and backed away uneasily from the door which the noise seemed to be spilling from.

*

Well, this was certainly interesting.

"Auriga, believe me, the last thing I want to do is waste my time watching this ridiculously maudlin ceremony. And believe me, I know what will succeed it."

"It's just a _wedding_, you git-"

"'Oh, Sev, wasn't it just beautiful? Oh, Sev, why won't you propose? Oh, Sev, I won't be young forever!'" the unmistakable mocking drawl of Severus Snape hissed.

"Well, I _won't_!" Sinistra replied indignantly.

"Auriga, darling, I hate to break it to you, but you are forty-three years old; you aren't young."

"I hate you."

Harry couldn't believe he was overhearing this: there was something strangely disturbing about the whole situation. For the past twelve years, Snape had been a detestable and formidable figure in his life - someone, yes, who had turned out to have more to him than met the eye, but it didn't by any means change the fact that overhearing one of his lovers' spats was really very _wrong_.

"Let's go, shall we?" Harry whispered.

"Let's," Ginny agreed quietly.

At that very moment, however, the door chose to swing open with rather frightening force. Harry, who had been standing dangerously close to it, was lucky enough to be able to stop the door . . .

With his face.

"_Shit_!" he shouted without thinking, bringing his hand to his stinging nose. 

"Harry!" Ginny squeaked. "Are you okay?"

"Oh my God, Harry, I am _so_ sorry. Sweet stars, I didn't mean to do that, I'm so, so sorry-"

"Potter! Weasley! Would you mind explaining what _the hell_ you are doing?"

"Professor Snape!" Ginny said immediately. "We were just-"

"Standing," Harry cut in, annoyed and in a severe amount of pain. "What are you going to do, Snape? Take ten points from Gryffindor?" 

Sinistra snorted, but was quickly silenced with a rather lethal glare from Snape.

"You were clearly eavesdropping, Potter, an action that is rude, disrespectful, and immature - though I do suppose that is to be expected of you."

"Se_ver_us," Sinistra said warningly. 

With one last rather violent sneer at Sinistra, Ginny, and a profusely-bleeding Harry, Snape swept past them, clearly disgusted.

"Nicely done, Harry," Sinistra muttered. "The bastard is having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he can't take points from you anymore - go easy on him."

Harry chuckled. "Okay."

"And you should probably see Madam Pomfrey about that," she continued, nodding toward Harry's nose. Blood was now beginning to drip from his hand.

"Right," he agreed.

"All right, then," Sinistra said, smiling. "I'll see you at the wedding."

And she proceeded to hurry down the corridor, calling after Snape's retreating figure, "Now, come on, Severus, don't be such a baby . . ."

Harry and Ginny watched with rather bemused expressions.

"How on earth," Ginny started, "can she . . ."

"Be in love with _him_?" Harry finished weakly.

"Precisely," said Ginny rather faintly. 

They exchanged 'who knows?' glances, and only then did Ginny seem to remember that Harry was, in fact, losing a fair amount of blood.

"Right," she said. "To Madam Pomfrey's, then."

"To Madam Pomfrey's," Harry agreed, and couldn't help but be slightly amused by the fact that he simply could not escape winding up in the Hospital Wing, even after he'd left school.

*

After a few minor mishaps which included a large amount of blood, a pesky stain on Harry's jacket (he was forced to borrow a spare pair of Ron's dress robes), and a rather frightening encounter with a homicidal house-elf that claimed to be madly in love with Professor Sinistra (and therefore rather intent upon murdering Snape), the wedding ceremony was set to begin.

Ginny stood outside the Great Hall, smoothing the lavender fabric of her dress before she retrieved her bouquet of white camellias. Next to her, Harry was muttering a few words of last-minute encouragement to a near-tearful Hermione:

"You look gorgeous, Hermione . . . really you do. You and Ron are going to be so happy together."

Hermione muttered something rather indecipherable.

"I love you too," Harry said, enveloping her in a quick hug.

This seemed to calm Hermione enough to at least make her coherent. "Oh, Harry, if you make me cry, I'm never forgiving you. I spent a ridiculous amount of time on my makeup."

"Okay," Harry said, and snuck a quick smile at Ginny. "I'll stop."

"You look wonderful, Hermione," Ginny said softly, hugging her friend. "Just beautiful."

"Thanks," Hermione said, smiling. "All right, then. I suppose it's starting any time now."

"I suppose so," Ginny agreed, and slid her arm through Harry's.

"You look great," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Right back atcha," she returned quietly.

She could hear Hermione and her father exchanging quiet words, and could make out a few more 'love you's, 'my darling girl', and 'oh, Daddy'.

"Oh, God, I'm starting to get a bit teary myself," she informed Harry. "I bet Mum's positively bawling even now. The second Ron stepped out there, I'm sure."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of the organ as it swelled through the Great Hall.

"Here goes," Ginny whispered.

She and Harry stepped slowly into the Great Hall, which had been beautifully decorated for the occasion. All of the tables had been temporarily removed in favor of rows of mahogany pews, and white and lavender flower petals were falling gently from the enchanted ceiling. At the head of the Great Hall, Ron stood rather awkwardly next to Mundungus Fletcher, who looked rather odd (to say the least) in nice white dress robes.

Sure enough, as they approached the front two pews on the left side, the sound of Mrs. Weasley sobbing happily was all too audible: she was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and smiling. Ginny noted that her father's eyes looked a bit glassy as well - the twins, Charlie, and Bill (who was seated next to Fleur Delacour: Ginny was surprised to note that she was smiling tearfully as well) were all grinning broadly.

As they reached Ron and Mundungus, Ginny and Harry exchanged small smiles before parting. Harry stood to the side of Ron, while Ginny took her place next to where Hermione would be in a moment.

A sharp intake of breath and soft murmuring filled the Hall as Hermione entered, grinning radiantly from where she stood next to a beaming Mr. Granger. She looked absolutely stunning: the dress seemed to almost sparkle, and Ginny felt a bit foolish in thinking that like the wand chose the wizard, the dress must certainly choose the bride. It seemed as though it wasn't quite Hermione: or rather, it was Hermione, but all her wonderful attributes seemed to be flourishing all at once, and therefore seemed to result in her looking positively ethereal, like some sort of angel. Ginny snuck a glance at Ron - his expression was filled with such awe and blatant adoration that she felt tears well up in her eyes.

(Mrs. Weasley was positively bawling.)

They reached the head of the Hall, and Mr. Granger sat down next to his wife. Hermione's eyes shone with tears as she faced Ron, who gave her a rather lopsided smile. She beamed and giggled a bit.

Ginny concentrated very hard on not bursting into tears. (Why oh _why_ did she have to be so much like her mother at these sorts of occasions?)

"We are gathered 'ere today," Mundungus began, his eyes twinkling, "To join this wizard and this witch in matrimony."

Hermione looked as though she was trying very hard to pay attention to what Mundungus was saying, but kept sneaking glances at Ron: Ron, on the other hand, was staring rather openly at his soon-to-be wife.

"Now," Mundungus continued, "Lemme tell you all something - I 'aven't never seen a pair that are more mean' to be together than these two." There was a warm 'aww' from the wedding guests. "Unfortunately, I also 'aven't never seen a pair that danced around their feelings for longer 'an these two did."

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat pointedly. Ginny spotted Snape and Sinistra exchanging rather fond smirks from where they sat in the back.

"Er," Mundungus said hastily, "Anyway. Moving on, then-

"Do you, 'Ermione Ophelia Granger, take Ronald Arthur Weasley, to be your lawfully wedded husband, through Bludgers and through Bouncing Bulbs, through Quills and Quiet Evenings, as long as you both shall live?"

Hermione smiled tearfully. "I do."

"Right, then," Mundungus said - Ginny could see that her mother looked less touched and more annoyed by every second that passed. "And do you, Ronald Arthur Weasley, take 'Ermione Ophelia Granger to be your lawfully wedded wife, through Bludgers and through Bouncing Bulbs, through Quills and Quiet Evenings, as long as you both shall live?"

Ron grinned. "She had me at 'is that a _real_ spell'?"

Mrs. Weasley looked scandalized at this, and actually hissed, "Ro_nald_, do it properly!"

Hermione, on the other hand, looked perfectly satisfied with this answer, and let out a sound that was an odd cross between a laugh and a sob.

"I do," Ron capitulated, still smiling.

"Fabulous, then," Mundungus said, sporting a grin himself. "Then I now pronounce you 'usband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

The organ swelled again - Ginny observed that Professor Flitwick was waving his wand as though conducting the unattended instrument - and Ron swept Hermione up into his arms and dipped her down to kiss her, not unlike the tactic he had used weeks before at Honeydukes.

The entirety of the Hall burst into applause, and Ginny saw that even Snape was smiling a little, though he quickly turned it into a scowl as a rather tearful Sinistra turned to look at him.

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears again as Ron and Hermione broke apart and made their way back out of the hall, hand-in-hand.

"Nicely done, Dung," Harry said, grinning as he clapped Mundungus on the back.

"Thank you, thank you," Mundungus returned, smiling back. "Now, onto the reception, eh? Who brought the Firewhisky? There'd better be Firewisky . . ."

He walked off mumbling to himself, leaving Harry and Ginny alone at the head of the Hall.

"Well," Ginny said, smiling.

"Well," Harry echoed. "I guess they're married, then."

"Guess so," Ginny agreed.

A strange expression crossed Harry's face, as though he wanted to say something but didn't quite know how, and had managed a rather strangled, "Ginny, I-" before Mrs. Weasley made her way over to them.

"Oh, it was _lovely_!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Ginny and then promptly moving on to Harry. "You know, I had my doubts when Ron told me that Mundungus was performing the ceremony, but it was absolutely _perfect_! Oh, I can't believe my baby is married!"

"Mum, calm down," Fred instructed, looking rather alarmed.

"Breathe in, breathe out," George added helpfully.

"Oh, shut up, you two!" Mrs. Weasley instructed, swatting at her sons. "This doesn't happen everyday!"

Meanwhile, Fleur was informing Bill, "You know, I remember distinctly, zat boy asked me to zee Yule Ball when I was here for zee Triwizard Tournament . . ."

Ginny exchanged a look with Harry and they both laughed.

"Come on, everybody!" Professor McGonagall announced briskly from the other end of the Hall. "The bride is about to throw the bouquet!"

Oooh. Ginny hadn't even thought about that. (She snuck a quick glance at Harry.)

"I am going to catch eet, you mark my words," Fleur told Bill. "I am going to get an engagement ring from you yet."

"Ooh-la-la," Bill returned, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ginny bid goodbye to her brothers, Mum, and Harry before making her way out of the Great Hall, Fleur close behind her. Excitement seemed to flow through her as she made her way outside - a heating charm had been used to get rid of the snow around the front steps, and already an assortment of women had made their way out into their area.

"Ready?" Hermione called, laughing a little. 

An uproar of assorted shrieking served as a reply.

"All right, then," Hermione said. "One . . . two . . . three!"

The bouquet soared through the air, and Ginny made a valiant attempt for it, but missed, as it was still a few feet over her head. And then, from behind her, came a triumphant cry.

"Ha_ha_! I caught it!"

Ginny felt a grin stretch across her face as she recognized the voice: turning around, she saw Auriga Sinistra clutching the bouquet with an expression of utmost victory.

"Severus Snape, you don't have a choice now!" she continued delightedly, making her way over toward the Potions master, who up until now had been watching the scene from a few feet away with his regular sneer. The sneer, however, had been replaced with an expression of absolute horror.

"You _have_ to marry me!" she finished, brandishing the bouquet as evidence.

"God, why me," Snape deadpanned, though he didn't seem to object as Sinistra stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around him, pressing her mouth to his own.

Mingled laughter and applause rang through the air, and Ginny herself couldn't resist clapping a few times before she heard a very welcome voice from behind her.

"Well, that was certainly eventful," Harry said, grinning at her.

"Definitely," Ginny agreed, giggling. "I must say, I'm glad I didn't catch it. Poor Sinistra deserves it."

"Though I'm not sure she deserves Snape," Harry replied, pulling a face.

Ginny shrugged and glanced over at the couple - they were still lost in a rather passionate embrace.

"She seems to like him."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. They fell into silence, and Ginny observed that the strange expression he had donned earlier had returned.

"You know," he said, rather awkwardly, "Ginny . . ."

"Yes?" she asked faintly, wondering if it was stupid of her to assume he was going to say what she hoped he was.

"I think-"

"Attention, everyone!" McGonagall's voice, magically magnified, filled the air. "The Great Hall has been returned to its usual state, and you may now return inside for the reception."

The crowd quickly filed back inside, laughter and conversation ringing in the air, but Harry didn't make any motion to go anywhere. Ginny, who was rather keen on hearing what it was he had to say, remained with him. Quite shortly, they were the only people left on the grounds, minus Snape and Sinistra - however, they both seemed to be rather distracted, and therefore most likely wouldn't endanger the conversation.

"So," Harry said.

"So," Ginny repeated.

"Erm . . . it's quite cold out here."

"Yes," agreed Ginny; what he said was true, and she found herself wishing that he would just talk about something other than the weather (surely that wasn't the statement she'd been waiting for) so they could get back inside already.

"Uh . . ."

She stared up at him expectantly.

"Ginny, I think I'm in love with you," he said weakly.

Snape and Sinistra, Ginny decided as she silently tilted her head and pressed her lips to Harry's, had the right idea.

****

A/N 2: Whoo! And I've finally written The Wedding! Odd, yes, that Mundungus ended up marrying them, but I had no idea who to use - oddly, the first person that came to mind was him, but I thought it to be a rather insane prospect and therefore wasn't going to do it. Then, however, my dear friend Milla (the brilliant drama-princess on Ff.N) suggested that she'd like to see Mundungus marry them without my saying anything about it and, well, who's to argue with psychicness like that? ;-)

Only about . . . hmm, four chapters to go? Sorry about the immense amount of fluff, but I really couldn't resist, and can't afford to argue with my lovely muses Steve (who is a girl) and Queen Ophelia, as they've been kind enough to actually let me write this. Am I actually writing this? Maybe I'm just dreaming . . . *pinch*

Okay, ow. Not dreaming.

Thank you so much to everyone who's waited for ages for this - Lord, I'm turning into The Goddess herself!

Well . . . not exactly.

Let's see if it takes me three years to get chapter fourteen up - then we'll talk.


	14. Conversations with Susan

****

Author's Note: Ah, IR. This story is officially the bane of my existence. Fanfiction-wise, at least. Sad, really. It was terrible from the start, and just spiraled off into an out-of-character ridiculous mess with the plot of a demented soap opera. Pretty much an absolute disgrace to J.K. Rowling's books. Or maybe it's beyond a disgrace. In any case, it's just _bad_.

But I have a new Ron/Hermione chapter fic project I want to start, and so I figure to start that, I should first finish this.

And I shall.

There'll probably be a few chapters after this one.

Of course, this one is utterly pointless - just a forewarning. Nothing happens. It does not advance the plot in the least bit, which is dreadful because the plot is in serious need of advancement.

Ah well.

Suffer.

****

Chapter Fourteen: Conversations with Susan

"You're quite cheerful," Mrs. Weasley informed her daughter.

"What?" Ginny asked innocently, placing a few dishes into cupboards and attempting to refrain from twirling around the kitchen. "Can't a girl put away dishes when her mother asks her to?"

"Well, I certainly don't object to that, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling, "But you seem a bit more . . . delighted than usual."

"Delighted?" she asked lightly. "I don't know what you--"

All right, she couldn't keep this up any longer.

"Harry said he loved me," she confessed, beaming.

Mrs. Weasley gasped and immediately pulled her daughter into a tight hug. "Oh, _Ginny_."

"Mum!" Ginny exclaimed, giggling and attempting to loosen her mother's grip.

"I'm so happy for you, dear!" Mrs. Weasley sounded a bit tearful. Ginny hoped she wouldn't start crying.

_Oh, Ginny, I'm so glad you've finally gotten yourself a love life!_ she thought sarcastically.

"I know you've adored him for absolute ages," continued Mrs. Weasley, squeezing her daughter tighter. "I remember the twins telling me about that Valentine poem you wrote him in your first year--"

"_Mum_!" Ginny repeated, a bit more sharply.

"What?" Mrs. Weasley backed away and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. "Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny. But it's just lovely. I'm so happy for you." She sniffled audibly and then reached for a rag to wipe off the counter. However, before she could actually get to work, she burst out into, "Oh, Ginny, do you think we'll have another wedding soon?"

"Mum!" (This was getting a bit repetitive.) "That's completely silly. He just broke things off with his girlfriend--"

"Oh, that Susan girl?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sniffing in dislike. "I never was very fond of her. She was a bit too blonde for him."

"Too blonde?" Ginny repeated, unable to resist a giggle.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I always thought his hair looked much better with yours."

"That's ridiculous," Ginny informed her mother, but couldn't hide her smile.

"Yes, well," Mrs. Weasley said, dabbing at her eyes again, "I know, dear. But I know how much you care about him, and he's such a nice boy--"

"Mum, he's twenty-two."

"Young man," Mrs. Weasley corrected herself. "Oh, I still remember him as that scrawny little first year at King's Cross."

Ginny couldn't help grinning. "So do I."

"And you kept begging to go see him," Mrs. Weasley continued, laughing a bit. She sighed, a bit more solemn now. "Just think of what he's gone through since then."

Ginny bit her lip. "I don't really like to."

"You--"

"Fred and George exploded a lamp in the living room," Harry announced, walking into the kitchen. "Just thought you'd like to know."

"_What?!?_" Mrs. Weasley exploded, fury immediately taking over her features. "That lamp has been in the family for nearly eighty years! Oh, those two have gone too far this time--"

Mrs. Weasley prepared to storm out of the kitchen, but paused to stare fondly at Harry and attempt to straighten his hair. As predicted, it wasn't very successful, and so she pulled him into a hug instead.

"Oh, Harry, dear."

Harry, looking slightly bemused, hugged her back. "Um. Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

"Of course, dear," she said, making one last attempt to straighten his hair and then stomping out into the living room. Ginny could hear her muffled yelling.

"I think she's getting a bit worked up, personally," Ginny said, attempting to remain cool. So he loved her. Big deal. Men loved her all the time. Or . . . well, not at all, actually. But that was a minor detail.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "That _is_ relatively minor for the twins."

"Definitely," Ginny said, smiling and leaning back onto the counter.

She felt something squish underneath her elbow.

_Oh, for the love of God--_

She had put her elbow in the butterdish.

Well, this was just fabulous.

"Holy s--"

Mrs. Weasley waltzed in again, face reddened with anger.

"--cricket," Ginny finished lamely.

Harry was watching her in interest.

"Can't believe it," Mrs. Weasley muttered angrily, "Completely destroyed . . . Very tricky repairing charm to fix it . . . Ginny, get your elbow out of the butterdish . . . Those twins. You'd think they'd grow up . . ."

Harry was staring with an extreme intensity at the kitchen table, and Ginny somehow suspected that he was trying not to laugh.

"All right," Ginny said, standing up and inspecting her shirt. Yay. Buttery goodness. "I'd better go . . . change."

"Right," agreed Harry.

"Because . . . butter," she explained, feeling more than a little bit daft as she gave him a weak smile and positively ran upstairs to her room.

Oh, yes. This was just stunning. It was obvious that she was completely used to having men fall in love with her, what with the casual manner in which she stuck her elbow in the butterdish and used expressions like 'holy cricket.'

Not.

Well, one thing was for certain, she thought bitterly as she pulled a clean shirt out of her bag.

This was certainly going to be interesting.

And probably thoroughly embarrassing as well.

Oh, goodie.

*

"About those flowers," Cryssa said; Draco watched her in the mirror as she brushed her hair. God, she took forever - he couldn't even begin to see the point of brushing the same spot of hair three times, but maybe being ignorant about those kinds of things was part of being a man.

Not that he cared about hair-brushing, anyway.

"What?" he asked coolly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

He hated those damn flowers.

"You got them for Ginny Weasley, didn't you?"

He glared at her. "Of course not."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy," she said, rolling her eyes. "Bright orange? They positively screamed impoverished Weasley trash."

"She's not trash," he said automatically.

Cryssa arched an eyebrow at him.

Oh, shit.

Lucius Malfoy was probably turning in his grave right now. Or he would have been, had he not been blasted into about a hundred little bits by a particularly violent curse. All in all, there really hadn't been much point in burying him.

But still.

"She's lower than trash," he announced, rather pleased at his scathing tone. This was much better. "There isn't a word for her."

"Mmm." Cryssa was still eyeing him skeptically. "I'm sure."

"_Dammit_, Cryssa, I'm serious."

"Draco, I'm a red roses kind of girl. I'm pretty sure you know that by now."

"Well . . . yeah."

This was bloody ridiculous.

"Those were Ginny Weasley flowers."

"And I've clearly annoyed you like hell over it. My purpose has been served."

"You're not getting off that easily," Cryssa announced, rising from the vanity in a perfectly poised fashion and not bothering to face him. He hated it when she went all snotty like this. In his opinion, the only person who could pull off acting like that was himself. "You've got her on your mind; it's nauseatingly obvious. So either we discontinue this little . . . liaison, or you do something to get over her. I don't want to have to get into this."

"I _am_ over her," Draco protested, irritated. "I was never on her to begin with."

Cryssa smirked.

"Sick-minded bitch," he muttered, brushing out of the room and into the hall.

Fine.

Fine. He'd get Ginny Weasley off his mind. He'd completely forget the Mudblood lover even existed.

And then, well, Cryssa would be lucky if he ever spoke to her again.

*

Susan couldn't believe it.

She had sent Harry six owls, floo'd into his flat twice, and even bought him a new cookbook as a little make up present. But did _he_ care that she was totally sacrificing her self-sufficiency and ability as an independent woman to get back together with him?

She thought _not_.

Sighing, she paced back and forth through the living room, glaring at the white sweater on the couch. That was definitely Ginny's. Susan couldn't stand Ginny Weasley. And, infuriatingly, it seemed like Harry could stand her. Maybe he even liked her.

But really, there was no way he would ever choose her over Susan.

That was just insanity.

She checked the clock on the mantle - almost eleven at night and he wasn't home yet. God. She didn't know what she was putting up with such a stupid prat of a boyfriend.

He was lucky she was such a sweet and forgiving person.

"God, Harry," she whined to no one in particular, "Where are you?"

"Clingy, are we, Weasley?"

She turned around to see Draco Malfoy standing behind her, smirking.

"Or . . . not Weasley," he corrected himself, sounding not at all apologetic. "What're you doing here?"

Mm. He was definitely hot. Yeah, he'd been a total bastard to Harry and his friends at school, but it wasn't like personality was everything. Looks were important, too. She hated how some people completely disregarded that. They were so shallow.

"Waiting for Harry," she replied, sighing and nonchalantly unbuttoning the top few buttons of her shirt. She ran a hand through her hair. Sure, Harry was her one and only and she'd be totally faithful to him, but to _not_ look good in front of a guy this sexy had to be some kind of crime, right? And she so didn't want the Ministry on her case or anything. "You?"

"I have to talk to Ginny," he replied. "I'm not going to waste my time waiting around for someone who's not here, though."

She started to giggle, then paused.

Wait a second.

Had he just insulted her?

Well, what a jerk. She had to find out if that's what he meant. But in a subtle, inconspicuous way, of course.  
"Did you just insult me?" she demanded.

"You really don't miss a thing, do you, Bones?"

"No, not really," she said lightly, flipping her hair. "So, I guess you're leaving."

"You know," he said, and seemed to be very interested in the fact that her blouse was part way unbuttoned, "Maybe I'll stay around. They should be back soon."

"Lovely," she said, flashing him her most dazzling smile. "Maybe we can . . . talk."

He smirked at her. "Talking. Sounds fun."

She leaned a bit closer to him. "Oh, it will be."

*

" . . . And then Harry _insulted my nails_," Susan exclaimed, pausing and glancing at Draco, apparently to see how she would take the horrifying news.

He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

When, exactly, had 'talking' started meaning actual talking rather than mindless sex?

"Potter's a bastard," he replied dully.

"Ugh," Susan said, wrinkling her nose. It was kind of eerie, to see someone with a nose that perfect. "Don't I know it. I really don't know why I put up with him. And so then, after the nail thing--" she glanced tragically down at her fingernails for a minute before resuming, "--I thought I was fed up. I just truly wasn't going to bother with him anymore."

"Fancy that," Draco deadpanned.

"But then I realized how much we've been through together, and how much I love him, and maybe fingernails aren't worth giving up all of that."

"Deep," said Draco.

"Yeah, I know," she said, widening her eyes as she nodded. "It was this complete epitome."

"Epiphany," he told her.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"Right," she said blankly. "So anyway, then I thought, 'wow. I really love him.' And then it reminded me of this Celestina Warbeck song that I used to love--"

Draco cleared his throat pointedly.

"Oh," Susan grinned, delighted. "Do you sing?"

For the love of God.

Draco had never liked Harry Potter. He'd never even _disliked_ Harry Potter. What he felt for stupid Potter was nothing less than pure, violent loathing. But now, after a half an hour of sob stories from The Brainless Wonder, he truly had to pity the bloke for putting up with her for so long.

It was downright miraculous.

Or maybe Potter was just really, really stupid.

. . . Yeah, that was probably it.

"You know, I don't think they're going to get home anytime soon, and I've got things to do," Draco said, standing up and taking a deep breath. For the past thirty minutes, he'd been breathing in the near-dizzying scent of her nauseatingly sweet perfume, and he was pretty sure he had lost a few brain cells in the process.

Yeah. Potter was definitely stupid.

"But I'm not done telling you about what Harry did to me yet!" Susan exclaimed, clearly offended. "Sit down!"

"Tempting as it is, I'd rather Avada Kedavra myself," Draco replied in his most charming tone, and was about to Disapparate when--

Ginny Apparated right into him.

"Aurgh! Dammit, Weasley!" he shouted as he went tumbling onto the couch.

"Oh, God," Ginny said; Potter appeared behind her, and immediately helped her up. "I'm sorry . . . or," she reconsidered, "I would be sorry, if it wasn't you I'd nearly crushed to death."

"Pleasant," he remarked sarcastically.

"Really? That wasn't what I was going for. And--"

"Fine. Don't even notice me, Harry Jack Potter. See if I care," Susan said, standing up and placing her hands on her hips angrily.

"It's James," Ginny corrected her, looking as though she were trying very hard not to laugh.

"What?" Susan snapped.

"Harry James Potter," Ginny explained. "Not Harry Jack Potter."

"Excuse me." And Potter's twit of a girlfriend was clearly angry now. "_I_ am Harry's girlfriend. I think I would know better than you."

"Actually, Susan, it is James," Potter said, a slightly pained expression on his face.

"Really?" Susan asked. "Since when? Why did you change your middle name without asking me first?"

"Since . . . always," Potter informed her.

God. This was pathetic on so many different levels. To think that he'd actually considered seriously dating Ginny Weasley for awhile. Just because she could, on occasion, be fun and witty and sexy, that hardly made up for the fact that the people she associated with were complete nutters.

And this wasn't even including any other members of the Weasley clan.

"I'm out of here," Draco announced.

"Wait," Ginny said, and grabbed his arm. "Why the hell are you here in the first place?"

"I wanted a word with you," he replied evenly.

"About what?" asked Ginny, looking at him quizzically. "Because frankly, Malfoy, I don't want anything to do with you."

"The feeling's entirely reciprocal, Weasley," he said. "Which is why I'd really appreciate if you mental cases would let me leave."

"By all means, go."

"I will," he shot back.

"Wait!"

This time it was Brainless Wonder Girl.

"What??" he snapped impatiently.

She looked up at him from under dark lashes, smiling coyly. "I'd love to be able to continue this . . . discussion another time."

Draco opened his mouth to tell her 'maybe in hell' or something equally as charming, but then glanced up at Ginny. Her dislike of Susan was made slightly obvious by the fact that she looked as though she were about to strangle something.

And, well, if she didn't even have the decency to get out of his head, then the least he could do to repay her was start dating a girl she couldn't stand.

Who knew? Maybe it would even piss Potter off and create a little trouble in paradise.

Oh, the possibilities.

"I would too," he said, smiling back down at Susan. "I'll get in touch with you."

"Fabulous," she said breathily.

And with that, he Apparated back to Malfoy Manor, feeling appropriately conniving and Slytherin-esque.

This was going to be entertaining.

*

"Well," Ginny said intelligently.

"Well," Harry echoed in an equally intellectually stimulating tone.

They glanced at each other.

"Malfoy . . ." Harry started.

"And Susan," Ginny finished.

"Talking," Harry threw in lamely.

"Maybe we should have seen it coming," Ginny said thoughtfully. "I mean, maybe it could even work. After all, they're both . . ."

"Blonde," Harry supplied helpfully.

"Right!" Ginny said. "Blonde. Not to mention unnaturally good-looking."

"You think Malfoy's unnaturally good-looking?" Harry asked, a little more sharply than he'd meant to.

Ginny blushed. "Well, in an . . . unnatural way. And I much prefer . . . natural."

"Oh." Harry grinned at her, not quite sure what to say.

They smiled rather goofily at one another for a moment before returning back to business.

"Well," Ginny said, "I suppose it would be kinda convenient. Then we wouldn't have to worry about Draco bugging me, or Susan crawling after you."

"That's true," Harry agreed. "Maybe we could . . . set something up."

"Yeah!" Ginny said, nodding. "Like . . . a double date."

A double date.

Well, that sounded more than slightly hellish.

But he supposed if it were for the greater good of getting Malfoy _and_ Susan off of their hands . . .

"A double date," said Harry. "Sounds great."

Assuming they all came out of it alive, that was.


	15. Maybe

****

Author's Note: . . . me? Neglect this story? Hehehehe. Never.

. . . okay, I admit it, I'm awful. Terrible. Should never be forgiven.

I'm so, so sorry that this took so long, and thank you to everyone who still bothers to read this. I love you all. May Frida Mahoney bless your souls.

I wrote a song when I started writing this chapter to share with you all in my author's note, and here it is:

(Well, actually I'm just parodying 'Simple Joys' from Pippin, which I am currently in and therefore that song frequently decides to get stuck in my head.)

__

Well, I'll sing you a story 'bout a sorrowful fic

When I started it two years ago,

I thought it pretty slick.

It had Har and Gin and laughs and sin and all that rot

But it didn't have none of those

Brilliant plots.

Melodramatic, OOC, and flat--

Do you really want to read a fic like that?

So I didn't update for some weeks

And ignored reviewers' painful squeaks

I wrote some other fics, about Sinistra and freaks [See Lamentations and The Mighty Medley of Sirius, respectively.]

__

Into another category, throw vampires in the mix

'Cause I knew I had to write me better some better fics.

I wanted something less obscene

If you've read it, you know what I mean.

And wouldn't you

rather read 'bout Padfoot and Moony

or a better G/H by the Angel of Pepsi [aka PepsiAngel]

__

or a brilliant Silver Phoenix parody

than the fic that's plotless and lame as can be?

I rather wish it'd die.

. . . but then towards the end of the chapter I actually rather started to enjoy writing it, so you can just ignore that little ditty if you'd like. :)

So here is chapter 15. Some parts are a bit slow, but I forced my way through and persevered! Score!

And there should only be a few more chapters.

Of course, I've been saying that for, what, a year?

  
So . . . yeeeeah.

I'm turning into J.K. Rowling with her three-years-in-between-updates-y ways. Only what she writes is irreversably brilliant, so she has an excuse. Oops.

Anyway . . .

This is not proofread. Because by God, I just want to update already.

You've been warned.

Chapter 15: Maybe

"A double date?" Draco repeated blankly.

Ginny nodded, plastering a smile onto her face.

". . . with you and Potter?"

He was apparently having a bit of trouble processing the idea. Secretly, Ginny rather couldn't blame him, but damned if she admitted that aloud.

"I just thought it would be a chance for you to get to know Susan better, is all," Ginny said, sweetly as humanly possible. "Since you two seemed to hit it off so well."

"I'm sure we could get to know each other a whole lot better without you and Potter sitting across from us making googly eyes at each other," he replied, scowling.

Why was she doing this again?

"Well, fine," Ginny said airily. "I suppose Harry and I will just go alone, then."

"Fine," Draco replied dully.

"The Golden Watch is a very romantic place," she continued, hoping that she wasn't making a complete fool of herself. After all, it was completely possible that he still had feelings for her. And if he did, then, well, who was to say she couldn't use that to her advantage?

Mwahaha.

"I'm sure we'll have a lovely time, Harry and I," Ginny continued lightly.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "And d'you think if I care if you two have a lovely time together or not?"

Jackpot.

"I'm not sure," she said nonchalantly. "Do you?"

"No," Draco snapped, just the slightest bit too quickly.

Oh, she had him now.

"Well, if you're sure that you don't want to join us . . ."

"Fine," he cut in, sounding as though he thought he was doing her a very big favor. "If it means so much to you, Weasley, I'll waste my precious time on you and Potter."

Ginny resisted the urge to either punch him or partake in a very frightening victory dance, and instead flashed him her most charming smile.

"Wonderful," she said. "Tonight at eight, then."

*

"You have some nerve, showing up here after all you've done to me!" Susan proclaimed approximately two seconds after Harry ducked the potentially lethal lamp that she'd hurled at him.

"Er. Sorry?" he offered weakly.

"You'd better be sorry, Mr. Potter!" she snapped. "You can't just come back here, looking all . . . sexy and heroic and save-the-world-y--"

Harry, who figured he looked the same as he always did, chose he might as well not even attempt to wonder about that comment.

"--and expect me to fall into your arms like nothing happened!" Susan finished furiously, then waved her wand. A pink stuffed bunny rabbit, a stack of Celestina Warbeck albums, and a collector's edition copy of Magical Me came flying his way, and Harry ducked again.

"Yeah," Harry said weakly, "I'm really sorry about that, honestly--"

"And for your _information_, Mr. Potter, I am completely over you!" Susan continued heatedly. "Draco Malfoy and I have a blooming romance, and contrary to what I'm _sure_ you think, you're not going to get in the middle of it!"

"I'm not trying to," Harry said earnestly. "Actually, Malfoy was just what I wanted to talk to you about."

"And don't give me that--" Susan paused abruptly, her interest piqued at once. ". . . really?"

Harry nodded, hoping that he'd be able to pull this off. He didn't exactly have Ginny's flair for lying, but at the same time, he wasn't exactly attempting to fool Rowena Ravenclaw here. He hoped that Susan's intelligence - or, more specifically, lack thereof - would wind up aiding him on his quest.

Why, exactly, he was doing this, he wasn't quite sure. Yes, it would be nice to have Susan and Malfoy out of the way - he still hadn't decided which would be nicer, actually - but they could probably find some way to do that without setting them up on dates which Harry and Ginny were forced to suffer through.

_Maybe,_ he thought, _I'm just getting really, really bored._

A situation involving dangerous magical creatures, dark wizards, and mortal peril almost seemed to be in order.

Almost.

"What about Malfoy?" Susan inquired, still suspicious.

"Well," Harry began.

"--you're going to challenge him to a wizard's duel, _aren't you_?" Susan cut in, eyes widening. "Because he's stolen your one true love! . . . Me," she threw in helpfully. "Harry, you can't do it. I know you're The Boy Who Lived and all, but he used to be a _Death Eater_. He probably knows all sorts of dark spells, and even though I hate your guts and never want to see you again as long as I live, I don't want you to _die_! The guilt would drive me mad! It would haunt me for half a year at least, and I can't live with that! I just _can't_, Harry, I _can't_."

Harry stared.

"Erm," he said delicately. "Actually, I was just going to ask if you wanted to double date. Him and you, me and . . . er." He paused, realizing that bringing up Ginny might not be wise -- especially as Susan seemed slightly . . . unstable at the moment. "Anyhow, him and you."

"You two aren't dueling in order to prove who's more worthy of my everlasting love?" Susan asked, looking a bit put out about it.

Harry shook his head, a bit fearful of what she might do next.

"Oh," Susan said, and narrowed her eyes.

He wondered fleetingly if he should have his wand at the ready. (Or at least be prepared to duck from violently hurled stuffed animals.)

" . . . Okay," agreed Susan easily.

Er.

"Right then," said Harry.

*

Harry arrived home, miraculously unscathed, to find Ginny standing in the living room, looking a bit antsy.

"What?" he asked. "Did Malfoy refuse?"

Personally, he wouldn't have minded giving up the whole thing.

"No, it's not that," Ginny said. "I talked him into it."

Harry felt a strange flash of jealousy, and reminded himself that Ginny talking Malfoy into something did not automatically mean . . . things that were not talking. Because talking was talking, and certainly not snogging or more than snogging and somehow he thought he didn't want to pursue that particular train of thought, as he might inadvertently blow something up in manner of Aunt Marge. Though, he supposed, it wouldn't be so bad at all if that something happened to be Malfoy himself.

"So, what's up?" he asked.

"Sirius is here," Ginny said, glancing toward the kitchen. "And he's a bit . . . unhappy."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, worry immediately overtaking him. "Something bad didn't happen, did it? Everyone's okay, right?"

"Right," Ginny said. "More or less. It's just . . . he and Hadia have had a bit of a row, I think. And he's not taking it incredibly well."

Harry frowned. "Oh."

He hoped that he wasn't expected to be able to help Sirius. He'd only dated two girls properly in his life, and both of them had been a bit on the melodramatic side. (Though he had to admit that Cho was nothing compared to Susan.) Of course, things with Ginny were entirely different than they'd been with anyone else, but just because he'd managed to fall madly in love with a perfect girl didn't mean that he was some kind of expert.

"I think maybe you should talk to him a bit," Ginny said. "I made tea."

"Good," Harry said, feeling very grateful for some reason. "Tea is soothing, right?"

"Right," Ginny agreed, nodding. "Even though he showed up a bit . . . er, well, he needs to be sobered up a bit."

Harry suddenly felt a bit tempted to run, and found himself remembering all too clearly an instance the year after they'd graduated from Hogwarts when Ron and Hermione had gotten into a horrible fight. Ron had attempted to drown his sorrows in Firewhisky, and the results hadn't been pleasant. At all.

He tried to block out the memory of Ron drunkenly proclaiming _"Y'know that song Requiem for a Niffler by th' Weird Sisters? Tha's wha' Her'mi'ne does to me . . ."_ and bravely ventured into the kitchen.

Sirius was staring very darkly into his cup of tea, muttering to himself.

"Sirius?" Harry offered weakly.

Sirius looked up. "Bit of advice, Harry?"

"Er. Sure," said Harry, a bit taken aback.

"Stay away from women," he said, brandishing his tea cup and causing it to slosh out onto the table. "Whole bloody lot of 'em are mental. Damned insane."

"Uh," Harry replied.

"Told Hadia I was sorry, but did she listen?" Sirius scowled. "I dun' think so."

All right. Advice. He could do this.

"Maybe, er, if you gave her a bit of time to be alone," Harry suggested uneasily. "To think about things. Then she . . ."

"S'ridiculous," Sirius cut in, taking a swig of his tea. Harry imagined he might wish it was something stronger. "Just 'cause I say _one thing_--"

"Well, what did you say?" Harry asked, sitting down at the table.

"Wasn' anything," said Sirius, frowning. "Jus' said something 'bout the Dark Lord, and how it was all over now, y'know, 'cause you defeated him, but . . . she was married, y'know that? Well, 'course you don't, she just told me." He let out the short, bark-like laugh that always seemed to make an appearance when he was upset. "To a Muggle. One 'a the ones that Peter killed. How's that for irony?"

This officially went above and beyond Harry's advice-giving skills.

"Have you talked to Remus about this?" Harry asked awkwardly, figuring that Lupin was probably more skilled, as far as in-depth conversations went. "'Cause he might--"

"'n it's never going to be over, she told me," Sirius continued blearily. "'Cause you can't get back the people you lose. 'n you can't. James and Lily . . ."

Harry suddenly found himself wishing more than anything that Sirius would just be quiet. Something sick and rotten seemed to be twisting in his stomach, and he closed his eyes for a moment. It was unnerving; he knew that his parents were dead. He'd never met them, and he never would, and even though he'd never be completely okay with that, he could usually bear to hear about them.

Suddenly, it was different.

"Sirius," he said weakly, opening his eyes, "it'll be okay. Just . . . leave her to sort things out for a few days."

"Women, Harry," Sirius repeated. "Stay away from 'em."

Ever so conveniently, Ginny walked in right at that moment. She exchanged a worried look with Harry, and Harry shrugged at her helplessly before glancing back at Sirius.

"'Cept Ginny," Sirius amended. "Excellent tea."

"Um," Ginny said, smiling weakly, "no problem, Sirius."

"So," Harry said, trying to sound as though he knew what he was talking about, "just go home and . . ." For a moment, he was tempted to suggest that he stick his head into a water barrel, the way he remembered Hagrid doing once, but was able to resist. " . . . read a book, or . . . sleep, or something."

"Tea," Ginny threw in, helpfully. "Not Firewhisky."

"Not Firewhisky," Harry agreed.

*

Draco decided that Ginny Weasley possessed dark, dark magical powers. Dark beyond anything he'd ever been capable of, or even his father, or his aunt Bellatrix. He figured she had to even give Lord Voldemort a run for his money.

Because before he'd gotten to know her, he would have bet his life that no one could ever, ever force him into a double date that involved Potter _and_ the most thoroughly daft woman in the history of wizardkind. Or perhaps humanity in general.

"This is a lovely place," Ginny said. Draco tried not to pay attention to how pretty she looked, because she was from a family full of Muggle-loving impoverished trash, and it was also just generally annoying. He instead looked at Susan, which was what he was supposed to be doing on account of the fact that he was on a date with her. She smiled back at him and tossed her hair over her shoulder; it sparkled in the candlelight, blonde tinted red.

Red, kind of like . . .

He wasn't going to look at Ginny Weasley, because he wasn't going to waste his time on Ginny Weasley.

Oops. He'd just looked at Ginny Weasley.

Who was in turn looking at Harry Potter like he was God's gift to women, or something. Draco scowled. Potter was loving it, he bet. He was probably sitting there reveling in how fantastic he probably found himself. But in a very modest, honourable, and Gryffindor way, of course, because he was Potter. He could do no wrong, and he got everything.

Draco didn't look at Ginny.

This was all Cryssa's goddamn fault, anyway. If she hadn't gone all annoying and self righteous, he wouldn't be here. He made a point not to talk to her the next time he saw her. Or if he was forced to speak, he'd be sure to throw numerous curse words into the conversation. (Of the profane _and_ magical variety, preferrably.)

A smiling witch wearing black dress robes came over to them, a small notebook and a Quick Quotes Quill in her hand.

"Hello," she said pleasantly. "Are you ready to order?"

Potter and Ginny exchanged a quick look.

"I'm not quite ready yet," Ginny said.

"Can we just have drinks to start?" asked Potter.

"Of course," said the witch, still smiling. "What would you like?"

"Just water for me," Ginny said.

"I'll have the same," said Harry.

"All right," the waitress said. "Water for the rest of you as well?"

Draco shrugged, and Susan nodded.

"Here you are, then," the waitress said, waving her wand. The four empty glasses in front of each of them immediately filled. "I'll be back in five minutes and see if you're ready to order then."

"Thanks," Ginny said, smiling.

She and Potter then immediately sunk into some sort of half-whispered conversation. Draco caught the words 'pretty,' 'going well,' and 'kiss,' and concluded he didn't want to know. Let them keep their stupid lovey dovey conversations. They were pathetic, the pair of them. And he hated them. A lot. And didn't even have to pay attention to them, really. He was here with his own date.

"This place is nice," he said, giving her the most charming smile he could manage.

Susan nodded vigorously. "Oh, I know. It's _so_ romantic."

Draco, who was not particularly fond of romance at the moment . . . or at all, come to think of it, made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

An awkward silence rose in which they stared at one another; the sound of Potter and Ginny talking animatedly lingered in the background. God. Was conversation supposed to be this difficult?

Well, as he was attempting to talk to a complete idiot, he supposed it could be. The unstoppable silence wasn't _his_ fault, certainly. She could at least make an attempt to say something.

"So," Susan said, as though she'd read his mind, and smiled brilliantly at him. "Is that your natural hair colour?"

Draco decided that he would very much like to kill something.

*

Well. This wasn't going terribly.

Yes, true, Susan was rambling on incessantly about fingernails or something equally fascinating while Malfoy sort of stared off a bit to her left, but Harry had been in that position and their relationship had gone on for years. That was, more or less, the only way one _could_ date Susan.

And besides, things with Ginny were . . . nice. Better than nice.

"What do you think?" Ginny murmured to him, leaning in close. 

The scent of her flowery shampoo mingling with something like peppermint detained him for a moment, but he gathered about his wits and replied, "It could be much worse."

"I'll say," Ginny said, her eyes sparkling. "He hasn't performed an Unforgivable on her yet or anything."

"Not even a Bat Bogey Hex," Harry remarked. "It's almost too good to be true. I--"

Completely unexpectedly, his stomach lurched - a sharp pain struck him, and for a moment he couldn't breathe.

And then, as quickly as it had passed, it was over.

"Harry," Ginny said, staring at him in concern, "What--"

She was cut off by a shriek from Susan.

Harry glanced over, thinking that perhaps Draco hadn't been able to resist the Imperius Curse, or maybe that she'd broken another fingernail.

Instead, she'd gone deathly pale, and was shaking and gasping for breath. The attention of everyone in the restaurant was immediately on them.

Harry immediately felt overcome with panic, and rushed over to her. "Susan, what is it?" he asked urgently.

She looked at him, her eyes not quite focusing. "Harry . . ."

It was true that in the years he'd known her, Susan had had more than one dramatic outburst. But this was new, and somehow he doubted it was at all feigned or overacted.

She took another shallow, desperate breath, and Harry reached for her hand. It shook uncontrollably in his, and her fingers were cold as ice.

"I need to get her to St. Mungo's," he murmured desperately, and the fear that had seized him was almost overwhelming.

The nervous muttering of the bystanders in the restaurant met his ears but didn't register in his mind, and he scooped her awkwardly up into his arms. The shaking seemed even more vigorous as she leaned against him.

"We have a fire in the back, and some Floo Powder," said the waitress who had helped them earlier. "Come on."

Harry nodded and followed her, his heart pounding. It felt like it had been ages since this had happened, since someone's life was jeopardized and it was up to him whether they were saved.

_Maybe it's not that serious,_ a small, logical voice in the back of his head suggested. _Maybe you're overreacting._

And maybe he was, but he didn't have time to consider that.

Not now.

*

Maybe this was his fault.

It wasn't that Draco cared, particularly. He'd been about ready to curse Susan into oblivion himself, and probably would have straight off if it weren't for the fact that they were in public.

It was just that it was a bit strange when one's date suddenly started shaking and gasping for breath like they were approximately thirty seconds away from death.

Of course, Potter had saved the day straight away, leaving a restaurant full of nervous people and Ginny staring anxiously after them.

"I'm going," she murmured after a moment, and began to head toward the back of the restaurant where Potter, Susan, and the waitress had disappeared seconds before.

"Wait," Draco said, without the slightest clue why (except, of course, that seeing her rush after Potter like the good little girlfriend would be completely annoying), and reached for Ginny's arm.

"What?" she asked shortly, still staring in the direction where they'd gone. "I've got to go, she's sick--"

"Potter can handle it," Draco responded. "After all, he's the hero, right? It's what he does."

"Malfoy, I do not have the time for this--"

"He doesn't need your help, Weasley," Draco told her, and found that he sounded far less scathing than he'd intended. "He's got it under control."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "You're getting at something. I know it."

"And if I am?" he asked lightly.

Ginny was quiet for a split-second too long before responding sharply, "Then I'm leaving. I don't want to--"

"I love you," Draco said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a strong and irrepressible urge to kill himself. God, she'd destroyed him. She had completely and utterly destroyed him. He wasn't any better than Potter -- no, he was worse, even. At least Potter had some sense. He knew he _could_ love her. The same definitely didn't apply for Draco, but hell, that didn't stop him. He was still a complete moron.

Ginny stared at him.

"I love you," he said again, and knew he should just stop talking and walk away, never go back, never set eyes on her again, but if he didn't say this he'd go insane. Maybe if he said it, it would disappear.

The inhabitants of the restaurant stared. Apparently, he was providing a whole new piece of exciting and dramatic entertainment for them.

Without another word, he placed his hand lightly on Ginny's arm for a moment before turning and heading out the door. The night air was brisk and cold, and it felt too sharp as he breathed it in.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

He turned to see Ginny standing behind him, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

For a second, he felt sure that he could walk away, but then realized that he didn't want to. And he shouldn't have to. She had done this to him, and she deserved to know that. Maybe it would make her miserable. Part of him was sure it wouldn't, but the other part was too intrigued with the idea to abandon it.

"I'm fucking in love with you," he informed her quietly, a vicious edge to his tone. "And I don't know why. I hate you, I hate your family, I hate the people you associate with. I hate Gryffindors, I hate honor. But does that stop me?" His voice was tinged with hysteria and weakness. God, he had to stop this. "No, of course not. And the sick thing is, the thing that _really_ gets me, is that it's pointless. You don't even hate me, Weasley. I don't matter. And I know that. I'm just Malfoy, the Slytherin prat that made your precious Potter's life hell for years. You know that, and I know that, and it doesn't stop me. You're making me fucking crazy, Weasley."

Ginny was staring at him, and, to his surprise, he couldn't even begin to read her expression. He'd expected it to be simple - disgust, anger, a little bit of horror just to make matters all the more delightful.

Instead, there was nothing. She might as well have been wearing a mask.

He knew, quite suddenly and certainly, that he had to leave. He just had to get rid of her. He hated himself right now, and it was unsettling. He'd gone his entire life managing to blame everything on other people, and he wasn't about to change it now. He just needed to get away from her.

Groaning in self-disgust, he turned and had taken a few steps when he felt a hand wrap firmly around his arm. He looked over to see Ginny standing quite close to him, her expression intense but unreadable.

"Weasley," he said, suddenly determined to escape this entire thing for good, "just--"

"I'm never going to love you," she said softly, and then stood up on tiptoe. He wondered if he was going crazy; imagining things - God, he almost expected it by now.

But then she pressed her mouth against his, gently, and he knew with a certainty that this was very real.


End file.
